


A Company Man

by mambo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Alexander Pierce, Abusive Relationships, Adultery, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cheating, Corporate Drone Bucky Barnes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Graphic Designer Steve Rogers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Explicit Pierce/Bucky, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Protective Steve Rogers, Recovery takes time, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Slow Burn, Verbal Abuse, Work/Life Balance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: It’s the way that Bucky smiles at Steve from across his desk. No, it’s the way that Bucky’s hand brushes Steve’s as they stand side by side in an elevator not crowded enough to justify their closeness. Or maybe it’s the whispered conversations every Saturday night, the way Bucky saves Steve’s number under a different name in his phone.No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Alexander Pierce, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Mentioned: Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Comments: 2669
Kudos: 2518
Collections: fics that make your heart hurts, stevebucky fics uwu





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [A Company Man / Человек Компании](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26105605) by [rabells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabells/pseuds/rabells)

> This fic is finally here. It's been... a long time coming. I'm really excited and nervous to share it. I'm not sure I've ever worked harder on something I've written, which is kind of scary.
> 
> I’d like to express my sincere and immense gratitude towards [MsPooslie](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1295915) and [imhereforgaysuperheroes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imhereforgaysuperheroes/pseuds/imhereforgaysuperheroes), who were cool with dropping out of the Captain America Big Bang when I felt like I needed more time to do this story justice and were great partners throughout this whole process. I also owe everything to [Deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium) and [goodmanperfectsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier), who beta read this fic, to [crinklefries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinklefries/pseuds/crinklefries), who let me have about eighteen neurotic episodes about this fic all over her, and [hakunahistata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakunahistata/pseuds/hakunahistata), who took me to the Prospect Park Zoo for research. I love all y’all.
> 
> Content warning: Please heed the tags before you start reading. I’m also happy to answer any specific questions you may have about the fic’s potential triggers in the comments, or via direct messages on my linked social media platforms. Take care of yourself!

# Prologue

_ — — _

_ New York Times _

January 2nd

Wedding Announcements

**Alexander Pierce weds James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes**

> Alexander Pierce and James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes were married Jan. 1 at Capitale in New York City, New York. Former Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy, a friend of the Mr. Pierce, officiated.
> 
> Mr. Pierce (left), 64, is the founder and President of Insight Incorporated, a global security equipment firm. Prior to founding the firm, Mr. Pierce served as the Director of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, an agency under the United States Department of Defense, from 2000-2005. He graduated summa cum laude from Columbia University.
> 
> He is a son of Judith Monica Livingstone Pierce and Senator Richard Henry Pierce of New York City, New York. Mr. Pierce’s mother was a strong supporter of the arts. His father served in the 101st Airborne Division in the Second World War before becoming a six-term United States Senator.
> 
> Mr. Pierce has been married twice before.
> 
> Mr. Barnes (right), 23, is a marketing executive for Insight Incorporated. He graduated cum laude from New York University.
> 
> He is a son of Winifred Rebecca Barnes and Matthew Asher Barnes. He is a step-son of Salvatore Amador Bello. Mr. Barnes’ mother is a lifelong nurse at Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. His father is currently incarcerated. Mr. Barnes’ stepfather is a zookeeper at the Prospect Park Zoo.
> 
> The couple met when Mr. Barnes was part of the prestigious Insight Company collegiate internship program. They began dating after Barnes began working full-time at the company following his graduation from New York University. They will honeymoon in the south of France.

— —

Steve frowns, taking a hard look at the happy couple, posed together in what is probably a very expensive Manhattan apartment. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes sits in a chair, Alexander Pierce behind him, one hand on his shoulder. The photo looks more like a father and son posing for a formal business portrait than a wedding announcement, but Steve isn’t sure he’s got room to judge. His own engagement photo shoot ended in the end of his relationship; at least these two made it to the wedding.

“Not again,” Sam says, sighing, as he sets a plastic basket in front of Steve. “I thought we talked about this.”

“It’s cathartic,” Steve argues, folding the paper down to a manageable size and handing it over to Sam. “Take a look at this one.”

Sam rolls his eyes but takes it. At the end of the day, they’re all suckers for the _ New York Times _ wedding announcements, even if they can all agree that reading them isn’t Steve’s best coping mechanism. While Sam reads, Steve grabs the bagel in the basket and takes a bite. It’s got everything he likes: cream cheese, capers, and the salty lox he’s not supposed to love as much as he does. He doesn’t even bother going up to the counter anymore; the ladies there mock him for his fish choices, tell him he should be getting nova lox like a grownup. But they all love Sam and won’t judge him for Steve’s embarrassing fish choices, so Steve lets him order for him. 

They’ve been coming to this hole in the wall bagel place for years, since they all met in college ages ago. There’s a long row of glass cases on one side of the restaurant filled with deli meats and salads, a chalkboard behind it listing the 250 different sandwich combinations, salads, and soups they offer. On the other side of the restaurant are a few booths with black plastic upholstery and rickety tables, almost always taken up by someone, often an old man sipping a cup of coffee and reading a paper or a family whose kid starts flinging balls of cream cheese around. It’s one of Steve’s favorite places in the world.

Natasha joins them a minute later with her own bagel and a huge cappuccino, one of the newest things they’ve started offering on the menu, possibly because every time Natasha came in she’d order one, then act disappointed when she “discovered” they didn’t actually offer them. “Wedding announcements again?” she asks as she slides into the booth next to Sam.

“We can go back to making fun of Steve in a minute, but can we make fun of these guys first?” Sam asks, handing Natasha the article.

She takes a few seconds to scan the announcement, holding the paper with one hand and her cappuccino with the other. “Textbook sugar daddy thing,” she says before taking a small sip. “Good for him.”

“They dated when he was an intern. That seems a bit unethical,” Sam says as Natasha puts the paper down so she can take a bite of her own bagel.

Even if he feels a bit guilty about dissecting this probably very happy marriage with his best friends over bagels, he can’t help but feel like he’s gotten out of another long conversation about how he shouldn’t be reading the wedding announcements anymore. It’s not punishing now, he swears. They’re just interesting. You don’t find couples like this anywhere else.

“They didn’t start dating until after he was an intern,” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow. The effect of it is dampened by the small glob of cream cheese hanging onto the corner of her lip.

“Well, I guess someone needs to benefit from all that evil military industrial complex money. May as well be this hot dude,” Sam says, scooting towards Natasha so he can inspect the photo again. Steve watches as Natasha glances Sam’s way for just a beat too long before settling into his side. He feels an irrational pang of jealousy watching them but pushes it aside.

“How do you know it’s evil money?” Steve asks, distracting himself from the fact that it’s only a matter of time before his best friends realize that they’re in love with each other and leave him behind. Just like everyone else seems to. This is fine.

“Man, he worked for Bush,” Sam says, then leans in closer to read the fine print. “Now he owns a…” He winces. “Global security equipment firm.”

“War crimes,” Natasha says, then takes another bite of her bagel.

Sam glances over. “You’ve got a…” He points to the spot on his own face where the cream cheese is on Natasha’s.

“What?” Natasha asks.

“Here, I can…” He picks up a napkin from the table, then slowly reaches over to Natasha’s face, telegraphing his movements before he wipes the cream cheese away. As he pulls away, a touch of red highlights the tips of her cheekbones, barely noticeable but still there.

Steve, meanwhile, takes a big bite out of his bagel and tries not to think of how he was supposed to get married last weekend.

“Anyhow, I think we know what you need for your next relationship to survive,” Natasha says.

“War crimes?” Steve asks.

“War crimes,” Natasha agrees. She holds the paper out to Steve. “Look what war crimes gets you. Isn’t he cute?” 

Steve looks down at the photo of the couple, at the way that James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes stares at the camera with bright blue eyes and a smile that doesn’t quite meet them. He’s probably a handsome guy in the flesh, but on paper, he’s stiff and awkward. Maybe he’s just not photogenic, or he’s uncomfortable with the fussy way the photoshoot was set out.

Or maybe Steve needs to stop reading so much into the lives of millionaires he’s never met and will never meet.

“I’ll take my chances without the war crimes,” Steve says, then sighs. “I’ve gotta stop reading these, don’t I?” he asks a moment later.

“Yes,” Sam and Natasha say, practically in unison. They didn’t even so much as pause to think. Sam grins at Natasha, who elbows him gently in the side.

He wonders how long it’ll be until he’s reading their wedding announcement in the paper.

— —

The answer is: five years later.

Well, the engagement announcement is five years and three months later. They don’t have the details for the wedding quite set yet.

— —

And in an ironic twist, the day that Sam and Natasha’s engagement notice goes out, Steve joins the war crime business.

“We’ve been bought out,” Nick Fury says at their Monday morning all-staff meeting.

Steve blinks. “What?” he asks.

He’s worked at ShieldDesign since he graduated from Pratt with his MFA in Communications Design three years ago and he’d been an intern there while he earned his degree. It’s a small team — eight designers, two admin, and one salesperson — specializing in small business branding and marketing. Steve’s worked with about eighteen different new and upcoming coffee shops across Brooklyn and Queens (and seen at least fourteen of them shuttered) during his time at ShieldDesign, but he loves the work, along with the sunny Brooklyn office, and their small but dedicated team. He even likes the Monday morning all-staff meetings, where Fury doles out assignments and lets them know everything they’re doing wrong in a constructive way and even, on occasion, lets them know what they’re doing right. Steve knows he could make better money elsewhere; hell, he’s even gotten a few more lucrative job offers along the way. But he’s always wanted to stay here. It feels right.

“Insight Incorporated is buying us out,” Fury says and Steve’s stomach drops.

“The place we did those pamphlets for?” Wanda, one of the other designers, asks. Frowning, she starts playing with a loose string on the sleeve of her cardigan. Steve hadn’t been assigned to the job, but he remembers Wanda mentioning the gig once or twice, saying that she liked most of the people she was working with but didn’t like the work itself.

Fury nods. “The same.” Wanda frowns.

“What does this mean, exactly?” Wanda’s brother, Pietro asks. He’s the newest designer on the team, brought on a little less than a year ago after Wanda gave Fury his portfolio.

Fury sighs. “All of you can keep your jobs.” There’s a palpable sigh of relief around the room. One of the older designers claps a few times. “Insight is offering everyone who wants to stay on a pretty good raise, good health care, and some other perks. I’ll still be your direct supervisor, though some of you will be farmed out to different divisions. I also know that not everyone will want to come with us, so we can talk severance packages. Let’s start talking individually about what you want to do tomorrow. Meeting adjourned.”

Steve starts to stand up, already thinking about what he’ll do with the severance money, when Fury catches his eye. “Rogers,” he says. “Let’s chat.”

— —

# Chapter 1

— —

It’s 8:52 AM and Steve Rogers walks bleary-eyed through the halls of Insight Incorporated’s Manhattan skyscraper. He’d been proud of himself, getting to the Times Square-adjacent glass monolith before eight so he could get to HR and finish filling out his paperwork and get his security badge. Upon arrival, he’d been surprised to see the sheer amount of Insight employees already there and working. Back at Shield, he’d gotten to the office at 9:30 and no one ever cared. And while the Insight HR department was relatively friendly, their directions to the conference room he’s supposed to be at in eight minutes were vague, and Steve is more than a little lost, helplessly wandering around the sixty-seventh floor, not sure if he’s already seen this patch of glass windows before, or if he’s going in circles.

It’s hard to imagine that three weeks ago he was still in his sunny Brooklyn office working with a boutique bakery on their bread packaging. Now he’s just an anonymous corporate drone in a building so large he doesn’t think he’ll ever find his way around. Seems like everything he cares about comes to an end without asking him first.

Of course, it’s just as he’s bemoaning his circumstances that he spots a sign pointing towards the conference room he’s looking for. It’s at the same moment that his toe catches on the grey carpeting and he stumbles, just barely catching himself before he falls over. While he’s able to steady himself without falling, he can only watch as he loses his tenuous grip on his ShieldDesign coffee tumbler. It falls forward, tepid coffee spilling out of the loose cap and landing right on the shirt of a well-dressed man heading in the opposite direction of Steve. Scrambling, Steve grabs the tumbler before it hits the ground, but the damage has already been done. “I’m sorry,” Steve says, wide-eyed and a little breathless as he looks up to face of whichever corporate drone’s day he just ruined.

It just so happens to be the most attractive corporate drone at Insight Incorporated. Steve just has that kind of luck.

The man looks down at his shirt, almost like he can’t believe it, then up at Steve. He’s got bright blue eyes that stand out from his pale skin, dark hair with a gentle curl. He’s wearing a well-tailored, fashionable suit that probably costs more than Steve’s rent and a pair of shoes that shine like he’s just had them shined that morning. But what stands out to Steve isn’t the cleft in his chin or the defined muscles beneath his shirt, but his expression, the way that concern fills his eyes a moment before he reaches out to steady Steve.

“Are you okay?” the guy asks.

“I’m fine, just tripped.” Steve looks back down to the spreading brown stain on the guy’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

The guy looks down at the shirt, like he’s just processing that Steve dumped a nearly-full tumbler of coffee onto his expensive clothes.

“I’m glad that wasn’t hot,” he says with a small smile. Steve’s cheeks get a little hot, thinking about how he could’ve burned the guy if the SheildDesign tumbler wasn’t such crap. But then the guy’s eyes widen and his smile falls as he says, “I’ve got a meeting.” He glances at the expensive silver watch on his wrist and shuts his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Is it important?”

“Don’t worry—“

“Here,” Steve says, grabbing the guy’s elbow and guiding him towards the nearby men’s room. At least _ that _is labeled. The guy sputters a little but follows him through the door, brow furrowed with confusion as Steve drops his stuff on the bathroom floor with a thunk and begins to unbutton his shirt. Then his eyes just go wide.

“I’m married,” the guy says, raising his left hand and pointing to a gold wedding band on his fourth finger.

Steve blinks, confused. “Alright?” He continues fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

“I mean, I… you’re stripping.” The guy inches towards the door.

“What?” Steve squawks, momentarily abandoning the task to stare at the guy, who just stares back at him with raised brows and wide eyes — an expression that reads ‘you tell me, crazy person’. Steve blinks, gets back to himself, and realizes that, oh yeah, this man is probably not a mind reader. “I’m going to give you my shirt,” Steve explains.

There’s a beat. “Why?” the guy asks.

“Because I wrecked yours and you have an important meeting,” Steve says, ignoring the fact that some people would consider the meeting he’s about to go to important, as well. Whatever. First impressions are only one of the most important things about starting a new job, he’ll survive. “I think we’re similarly sized,” he adds, in case that was a concern.

“Oh, I…” He trails off, looking down at the floor for a moment before saying, “You don’t have to.”

“We’ve only got a couple minutes,” Steve says, trying to smile, to calm the guy down a little bit, as he shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders.

The man looks at him for a long moment – though he’s not _ looking _, even though Steve wouldn’t necessarily mind that, either —, shakes his head, then takes off his suit jacket. He hangs it up on the back of a bathroom stall, then starts unbuttoning his own shirt. 

“I’m Steve, by the way,” Steve says, just so he has something to do other than watch the man disrobe.

“Bucky,” he says in response, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. Steve peeks over and sees that his initial assessment was correct; Bucky is well-built, a bit thicker in the middle than Steve, with toned arms. Steve catches a glimpse of a red star tattoo on Bucky’s left bicep and a purpling bruise beneath it before Bucky turns slightly, trying to block Steve’s view of what he must consider an embarrassing tattoo. “Here,” he says, holding his coffee-stained shirt out for Steve.

Steve takes it, hands Bucky his own, then starts pulling on and buttoning up the wet button-down. It’s a good thing he likes the smell of coffee.

“You really didn’t have to,” Bucky says as he does up the buttons of what is now his shirt. Steve glances over to find Bucky looking at him; Bucky looks down a moment later, down at the shirt Steve lent him, a little redder at the tips of his cheekbones.

“It’s not a problem,” Steve says, finishing up with his own and inspecting the damage: it’s bad. Most of the chest and stomach is covered with coffee, an unavoidable stain. He’s glad he has his comfortable navy office cardigan in his bag to throw on over the shirt, though he’s pretty sure that he won’t be able to cover up the entire stain. But he’s already made peace with looking like a goober at his first company meeting. Maybe he’ll get fired and he’ll get to go home. “I hope your meeting goes well.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “I hope I’ll see you around.”

“You will. I’m just starting here today, actually.”

“Really?” Bucky asks, then snorts out a small laugh. “Some first day. What—“ He’s interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing, loud and shrill. It’s the kind of ringtone someone sets for a call they can’t miss. He shuts his eyes for a long moment, then pulls his iPhone from his back pocket and looks down at the screen, which is angled away from Steve. “Sorry, I’ve gotta…”

Steve nods. “Have a good day,” he says with a smile as he leaves the bathroom and heads back towards the conference room.

Despite everything, he hopes there will be coffee.

— —

Steve slips into the conference room, gratefully taking the open seat next to Fury.

“Jesus Christ Rogers,” Fury says under his breath as Steve slips into his seat. He wasn’t aware that Fury had even looked his way, but of course he’d know.

“Absorption is the new, hipster way to drink coffee,” Steve explains, surveying the room. No one seems to be listening to the two of them. Rather, Wanda sits on the opposite side of Fury, tapping a pen against a notebook in a nervous beat. The Insight Incorporated guys at the meeting are standing by a computer at the corner of the conference room, hobnobbing with one another. One says something about someone named Sharon and the rest of them throw their heads back, laughing. They’re all men, Steve notices, then looks down at the table.

The conference room itself is rectangular, with glass walls and a projector screen at the far end. There’s a long table in the middle, each place with a pen and a plastic water bottle set in front of it. Everything feels pristine and modern, from the high-backed black swivel chairs to the nubby grey carpet. Monday morning all-staff meetings were always in Fury’s office, everyone squished in there, sitting on desks and the floor, sharing pastries from whatever coffee shop they were working with that week.

“We’ll get started when James gets here,” one of the suited men assures Fury, then goes right back to his conversation on the other side of the table.

“James Barnes,” Fury says, under his breath. “He’ll be your—“

“Division head, I know,” Steve says. “I did my homework,” he adds, raising an eyebrow as Fury rolls his eye.

“First time for everything,” Wanda mutters. Steve pretends to flick her; he would actually do it, but he feels like he would lose a hand if he reached over Fury. But his expression softens when he takes a good look at her. She’s a little slumped in her chair, her lips curved downwards at the corners. He wishes he could give her a squeeze on the shoulder or something but again, Fury’s sitting between them.

“How’s Pietro?” Steve asks instead.

“Oh, he’s fine. Going out to visit our stepdad for a couple weeks while he starts submitting job applications. Some of his friends have started talking ‘start-up’ this and ‘start-up’ that but he does not want to put all of his eggs in the one basket.”

Pietro opted out of taking the job at Insight Incorporated and took the severance package instead. Two of the other designers joined him, along with both admins and their sales person. So it’s just five of them, including Fury, at Insight. The other two designers Steve could live without, but he’s glad Wanda signed on. Steve is pretty sure that Insight doesn’t care about the attrition; they were mostly after Fury, who wouldn’t come without at least making an offer to his team. Steve will be surprised if they’re not all forced out within the year.

“Tell him to call if he needs a reference,” Fury says.

“Will do,” Wanda says with an absent nod of the head.

A moment later, the door opens and…

Steve blinks.

Bucky blinks back at him.

And then he smiles. “Hi, you all must be the new designers,” he says. He walks round to their side of the table and shakes Wanda’s hand, introduces himself as James Barnes, then introduces himself to the other two former Shield employees sitting to her side. He tells Nick Fury that it’s good to see him again and that he’s excited to work with him. Finally, he turns to Steve. “I like your shirt,” he says.

“It’s couture, hand-spilled here in New York.”

Bucky grins, his beautiful eyes shining. “You’ll have to tell me the fabric blend. It looks robust.” He reaches out a hand, which Steve takes. “James Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers.”

“I loved your portfolio, Steve,” Bucky says. He glances back over at Wanda as Steve drops his hand. “Yours, too, Wanda. I’m excited that the two of you will be project leads.”

“Thank you,” Wanda says.

Bucky looks over the three of them to the group of four guys, still mingling on the other side of the room. “Alright, everybody ready?” he asks. Steve notices that two of them share a significant look with one another, the kind of unspoken communication between coworkers that always means _ something _, even if Steve doesn’t quite know what it means yet. But Steve knows enough to know that it’s probably something negative, something about Bucky that makes his coworkers have strong feelings towards him.

Still, Steve can’t help but give Bucky the benefit of the doubt. His gut tells him that he’s a good guy.

Though even good guys sometimes suck to work with.

Regardless of their feelings, the group settles in around the table. After introductions, Bucky hands things off to Jasper Sitwell – Wanda’s Project Manager – and they begin talking about company aesthetic focus and image management.

Even though he’s paying attention and taking notes, his eyes slip over to Bucky more than once. Once, his eyes meet Bucky’s and Bucky just… smiles.

A cog in Steve’s chest begins to clink, something old and rusted that hasn’t turned in so long that in the moment, he can’t quite figure out what the feeling means at all.

— —

He’s setting things up in his office towards the end of the day, Wanda perched on the side of his desk, when someone knocks on the door frame. “Come in,” Steve says, fiddling with his undergraduate diploma, trying to get it to sit straight from where he’s hung it on the wall. He hadn’t had his diplomas hung in his old office, but he feels like he probably needs to here. People here seem to be a bit more focused on pedigree than they were at Shield.

The office itself isn’t bad. It’s smaller than his old office, practically a closet. But the wall is glass, so he gets good sunlight, and the computer is state-of-the-art, the best graphic design model on the market right now. Plus, his office is right next to Wanda’s, so it will be easy for the two of them to sneak inside, shut the door, and talk shit about everyone they work with once they know the people they’ll be working with a little better.

“Sorry to interrupt,” says a deep voice from the door, already becoming familiar to Steve’s ears. He looks up and subsequently bangs his head on the frame of his diploma.

“Crap,” Steve says as Wanda chuckles.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as Steve straightens, rubbing his head.

“Fine,” Steve says.

“Only thing wounded is his dignity,” Wanda says.

“Lost all of that earlier with the coffee,” Steve says, then smiles at Bucky. “What can I do for you?”

“Just brought an office warming present,” Bucky says and Steve realizes he’s holding a wicker basket. Inside, there’s a mug, a notebook, a stress ball, and a few other things with the Insight Incorporated logo on them. Honestly, Steve hopes he gets to redo the logo itself — it’s a little EPCOT Center-looking for his taste — but that’s pretty unlikely. “I think Jasper has yours, Wanda, if you want to bug him about it. He may forget to give it to you, otherwise.”

“Noted,” Wanda says.

“Can I set this on your desk?” Bucky asks, looking back at Steve.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Steve says, fumbling as he steps closer to the desk. “Anywhere’s fine.” Wanda raises an eyebrow at him and Steve feels the heat rise up in his cheeks, just a little.

Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t seem to notice as he sets down the basket. “Anyway, just wanted to say thank you again for joining the Insight crew. It’s…” He trails off for a second, clears his throat. “We can use both of your talent.” He smiles at the two of them, close-lipped.

Steve nods and looks at Bucky’s shirt and says, “Hey, that’s not my shirt.” He doesn’t realize that he’s frowning.

“What?” Wanda asks as Bucky chuckles, a little uncomfortable. Steve’s eyes go a little wide, remembering that, oh yeah, that’s not an okay thing to say to your new boss, especially in front of one of your coworkers.

“Steve gave me his shirt after he spilled coffee on mine before the meeting,” Bucky explains to Wanda. “My husband just had another shirt dropped off for me since we’re going out right after work. He had your shirt taken to the dry cleaners, by the way. It’ll be sent to your place tonight.”

“Thanks,” Steve says.

There’s a beat.

“I should probably get back to my office,” Wanda says. “Make sure I get my gift basket.”

“The chocolate covered almonds are very good,” Bucky instructs. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he adds as Wanda slips past him with a goodbye.

Steve half-expects Bucky to leave once Wanda’s gone, but he takes a step further into Steve’s office instead. “I wanted to thank you again,” he says. “If I’d known that you were the Steve Rogers who’d be in the meeting, I probably would’ve thought twice.”

“It’s fine, I practically forced the shirt onto you anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, just slightly.

Steve may have a bad case of Foot In Mouth Syndrome around this guy.

But Bucky recovers with ease. “Well, you kind of saved me.” His voice gets a little softer as he taps at the corner of Steve’s desk with his index finger. “I get kind of nervous before those meetings. Walking in there covered in coffee wouldn’t have been great.”

“You seemed really confident in there,” Steve offers, though he can’t help but think of the shared look between the Insight coworkers as Bucky took charge of the proceedings.

Bucky smiles, but something about it feels forced. “Seeming and being are two different things.”

“True.”

“Anyhow, I hope you have a nice night. We’ll meet up tomorrow to go over some more project specifics.”

He’s about to leave, but Steve stops him by asking, “Which do you like to be called: James or Bucky?”

“Oh,” he says, turning back around. “Bucky, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Steve says. “Good night, Bucky.”

“Night Steve,” Bucky says, leaving the office.

Steve spends about six minutes futzing with his diploma and his other various office décor before he calls it a night. He grabs his coat and bag and pops his head into Wanda’s office, finding her packing up for the day, as well. “Wanna grab a drink?” he asks.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

— —

It’s past nine when he stumbles back to his apartment in Park Slope. He’s tipsy, probably drunker than he meant to be when he went out, but feeling okay when he sees a thing hanging on his door. Confused, he steps closer and realizes that it’s just a dry cleaning bag, not a ghost.

The shirt, he reminds himself. Bucky said the shirt would be back tonight.

Feeling relieved that it’s not some kind of plastic-wrapped ghost here to haunt him for joining the military industrial complex, he reaches for it only to stumble over a package resting outside of his door. He swears and looks down at it in confusion. It’s a brown box, wrapped with a blue bow. There’s no shipping information on it; it must have been hand delivered. Once he gets the door open, he sort of kicks the box inside the doorway. He hangs the shirt up in his coat closet just so he has a place to put it, then looks down at the box.

He didn’t order anything. He wasn’t expecting anything.

Rolling his eyes, he undoes the slightly-less-pristine-now-that-it’s-been-kicked bow and looks inside the box. Resting on top of white tissue paper is a note on thick stationery.

_ Thank you again for the shirt. _

_ \- Bucky Barnes _

Beneath the note are five brand new Ralph Lauren button downs, all in his size.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> A power move. Encryption. Bacon-wrapped dates.  
"You'd know if I were trying to seduce you."
> 
> Posting November 20th.
> 
> • Hearing from y’all is one of my favorite parts of sharing fic, so if you’ve got a minute to drop your reactions in a comment, it will probably make my day.  
• You can [reblog this fic on Tumblr](https://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/189045143374/a-company-man-by-mambo-its-the-way-that-bucky) or [retweet this fic on Twitter](https://twitter.com/mamboao4/status/1194734433003282432) if you care to spread the word. 
> 
> [The National Domestic Violence Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/) provides support to domestic violence survivors, as well as others whose lives are touched by domestic violence. You can speak to them over the phone or through online chat. Additionally, they provide numerous resources, including detailed information on creating a safety plan to help people leave their abusive partners. If you or someone you know may be in an unsafe situation, please give them a call at 1−800−799−7233 or visit their website for more information.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A power move. Encryption. Bacon-wrapped dates.
> 
> "You'd know if I were trying to seduce you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the very kind words on the first chapter. It's very much appreciated!!

“What do they mean?” Steve asks Natasha the next morning. They’re FaceTiming as she walks to her sunrise yoga class; she’s the only person Steve knows who wakes up before he does, even after he knocked back his wake up time a few hours for this new job. Even if other things are changing, he knows that he’ll be a mess if he can’t get himself to the gym before work every day.

“That he has good taste,” Natasha says, taking a sip of iced coffee from her reusable tumbler. It’s silver and probably does not spill on her coworkers.

“I saw these at Nordstrom’s once. They were $200 on  _ sale _ ,” Steve says. Of course, the tags on these shirts had already been taken off but he knows they weren’t cheap. He buys his shirts at Kohl’s; he can tell the difference between cheap fabric and the good stuff. These are the good stuff.

“What this means is that you’re being underpaid,” Natasha says. “And that he understands that light blue brings out your eyes. Good call.”

Steve rolls his eyes, then looks down at the shirts. He has them arranged on his bed so he can get a holistic look at all of them. There’s two plain, white button downs, a light blue shirt, a white shirt with delicate blue stripes, and a black shirt. Honestly, they’re all things that Steve would have picked out for himself if he were the kind of person who would spend the same kind of money on work shirts as he does on paying back his student loans, but he also knows that’s not saying much – it’s not like he’s a fashion plate. All of the shirts are in his size, too, which Bucky must’ve gotten from the shirt he sent to the dry cleaners. It’s just that there was a lot of thought put into this gift and he doesn’t know what it means.

“Don’t overthink it,” Natasha says. “You did this guy a huge favor and he wanted to pay it back.”

“It feels like a power move,” Steve says.

“It sort of is.” Natasha shrugs. “Listen, I’m almost at the studio, but let’s talk tonight. Sam’s making tacos.”

“Taco Tuesday?” Steve asks, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“I know, I know. We’ll be moving to the suburbs next.”

“I’ll be there,” Steve promises before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

He looks down at the shirts, then back to his closet. Steve trails a finger over the polo-playing logo on the light blue shirt, lets it linger on one of the buttons. And then he turns back to his closet, grabs one of his plain white button downs from Kohl’s, and heads to work.

— —

If he was worried about how Bucky would react to Steve not wearing one of the shirts, he didn’t need to be. Turns out, Bucky’s tangled up in meetings most of the morning and can only drop Steve an email with instructions for some of the stuff he should be doing during the day with a promise that they’ll meet up the next day. It suits Steve fine; he doesn’t need a lot of hand-holding when it comes to his work. But he also feels just a little bit disappointed spending his day without seeing Bucky’s bright blue eyes.

— —

Well, it turns out that he doesn’t necessarily have to go the whole day without seeing Bucky. He catches a passing glimpse as he leaves the building for the night, just a moment where he watches Bucky slip into a black town car waiting at the curb for him.

Wanda at his side, Steve makes his way towards the subway.

— —

After tacos that night, Steve gets home to find that the shirts are still on the bed where he left them that morning. He stares at them for a minute, tries to decipher what they mean, or if they mean anything at all.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters to himself as he walks to the bed and picks up the black shirt. He unfolds it, then unbuttons it before pulling his own shirt off and dropping it on the bed next to the neatly-folded Ralph Lauren shirts. And then he puts the shirt on.

It’s just a shirt, he tells himself, but it’s a shirt that looks good on him. The cut flatters the shape of his body, emphasizing his trim waist and broad shoulders. He looks at himself in the mirror and wonders if Bucky thought about the way he’d look in these shirts, or if he picked things out randomly. Or if he’d even picked them out at all; maybe his husband did, or maybe he has a personal shopper.

It’s not a healthy road for his mind to go down and he knows it. Instead of modeling the other shirts, he hangs them up at the back of his closet. Then he takes the black one off and hangs it up next to them. He’ll find a time to wear them, but he’s not quite ready yet.

— —

“Sorry for the delay,” Bucky says, shuffling a few papers around as Steve takes a seat in the empty office chair across from Bucky’s desk. Bucky’s office isn’t terribly different than Steve’s, except in size and location. It’s located four floors above Steve’s in a row of offices, mostly held by older men with greying hair with small bars filled with glass decanters of whiskey in the corners of their offices. Bucky’s office doesn’t have a bar. Things are neatly organized and labeled on his shelves, and there’s a large print of a modern artwork on the wall next to Bucky’s diploma from New York University. There are a framed few photos sitting on the corner of Bucky’s desk, but Steve can’t get a good look at who they’re of, except one of a big slobbering golden retriever, which makes Steve smile.

“No worries. Is that your dog?” he asks, gesturing to the photo.

“My mom’s,” Bucky says with a little smile. He picks up the photo and hands it over to Steve. “I grew up with her. Can’t have one now — my husband’s allergic — but I go visit her when I can. She’s getting old, though.”

“That’s a shame,” Steve says, smiling. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“Marry someone who wants one, too,” Bucky says with a kind of rueful smile before taking the photo back from Steve. 

“What does your husband do?” Steve asks, just as a stopgap.

Bucky pauses; he blinks. “Uh, he runs this company,” Bucky says, sounding a little surprised.

There’s a beat.

“What?” Steve asks, more of a surprised response than an actual question.

Bucky chuckles, a little uncomfortable. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Yeah, I thought you would’ve found out by now.”

“Oh no.” Steve pauses, then adds, “I didn’t do much research before I came to work here.” It’s a stupid admission that he probably should’ve kept himself from saying, but he doubles down by adding, “I don’t agree with what goes on here morally, so I’m just trying to stay ignorant for as long as possible.”

If he’s fired on the spot, it wouldn’t be much of a loss, he tells himself. In fact, it could be kind of a blessing.

But Bucky doesn’t fire him; instead, he laughs. “I get that,” he says. “That’s what I told myself when I started here as an intern.”

“You’ve been here for a while?” Steve says after a pause, feeling like he’s forgetting something but unable to put his finger on what it is that he’s actually forgetting.

Bucky nods. “A while, yeah. You wanna get started with the mock-ups?” he asks, shifting into a more business-like tone, apparently not wanting to talk much about his personal life. That’s fine. Steve nods, eager to change the conversation and get himself back on track. He shouldn’t want to know as much as he wants to know about Bucky.

— —

When Steve stands up to leave the office, Bucky clears his throat. He turns to find Bucky looking at his shirt, frowning. “Did they not fit?” he asks.

“What?” Steve asks, momentarily confused.

“The shirts,” Bucky explains. “They got to you, right? I had them hand delivered to your apartment.”

“Oh yeah, the shirts.” Steve swallows hard. “Yeah, they fit. They’re great.” Bucky’s mouth twitches, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, so Steve fills the silence. “They feel too nice to wear to work,” he admits. “I don’t want to ruin them with anything or dump a pot of coffee on one of them.”

There’s a moment and Steve feels like he can see Bucky trying to formulate whatever it is he wants to say next, words twirling around his brain until he can place them in the correct order. Finally, he says, “I understand,” in a kind of quiet voice.

“But I’ll wear them,” Steve promises.

“It’s fine, it was—”

“Friday,” Steve interrupts.

“What about it?” Bucky asks.

“I’m going out with some friends after work. I was going to wear the black shirt.” He actually hadn’t thought much about it before that, but it makes sense. They’ll be going out for drinks and dinner and the black shirt will look good with a pair of jeans.

“Good to hear,” Bucky says, smiling.

“You could come with, if you want,” Steve says.

It’s Bucky’s turn to ask, “What?” in a tone more surprised than questioning.

Steve nods, warming up to the idea. “If you want. We’ll be out in Brooklyn at a new tapas place for drinks and food. Wanda will be there along with some other friends,” he adds, wanting to make sure that lines aren’t crossed here. This wouldn’t be some kind of intimate gathering. It definitely wouldn’t be just the two of them.

“You’re inviting me?” Bucky asks, mouth slightly ajar, head tilted just a little to the side. Being invited out by a coworker shouldn’t warrant this much confusion, Steve thinks, but doesn’t follow that line of thought too closely. It’s none of his business.

“Again, only if you want to,” Steve says voice steady, hopefully not leaking any hope into his intonation.

“I want to,” Bucky says, finally smiling. Something in the air relaxes when Bucky does. “Thank you, I’ll check my schedule.”

“I can give you my phone number and you can text me when you find out,” Steve says.

Bucky hesitates for just a moment and Steve wonders if he’s crossed a line. But he also knows that he had Fury’s personal phone number back when he was an intern, along with most of his coworkers’, so it can’t be that unusual to exchange contact information, even if Insight is a much different kind of company. Before Steve can overthink himself into a tizzy, Bucky pulls his phone out of his back pocket, unlocks it, and hands it over to Steve. Steve adds himself as one of Bucky’s contacts as ‘Steve Rogers (work)’ and shoots himself a text from Bucky’s phone so he has his number, then hands it back.

Bucky pauses, looking things over, then looks up. “Do you have WhatsApp?” he asks.

Steve blinks, a little confused. “WhatsApp? No. Why?”

“No, it’s not… It’s just, the messages are encrypted. It’s a safer way to text.”

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll download it,” Steve says, confused but not questioning. They work at a global security firm; it would make sense that Bucky would care about things like privacy. Hell, given that Bucky’s husband knows actual state secrets, it wouldn’t surprise him at all if they’re both a bit paranoid about encryption and security.

Maybe Bucky’s husband knows where the aliens are.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m…” He trails off, brow furrowed.

“I’ll download it,” Steve repeats, a promise. “If it makes it easier for you to talk, I’ll download it, no problem.”

Bucky nods and smiles. “Thanks Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow?” It’s a question, but also somehow not. Steve doesn’t quite know how to describe the nervous energy that radiates from Bucky, but there’s some kind of tension that swirls around Bucky’s office, fills the space between them. He looks into Bucky’s eyes and can’t quite name the feeling that fills his chest, uncomfortable but wanted. If he could catch it, bottle it, and drink it, he would. Instead, he just doesn’t look away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve says in a voice that’s just a little too gentle for what they’re doing and the moment they should be having.

But when Bucky smiles at him, little crinkles forming around the corners of his eyes, Steve ends up carrying that softness with him out of the office and into the rest of his day, up until the time he gets home and tells Sam and Natasha that he invited his boss to their Friday get-together.

— —

“Is this the shirt guy?” Sam asks Steve on the phone that night. He’s FaceTiming the two of them from his apartment, remembering when he lived with Sam and they’d do the same thing with Natasha on the other end. How the times have changed. 

“You told him about the shirts?” Steve asks Natasha, who is busy eating some pudding.

Natasha slurps the pudding off of her spoon and nods. “Of course I told him about the shirts.”

“We don’t keep secrets,” Sam says.

“Our relationship is very healthy,” Natasha agrees. 

“Minus the pudding,” Steve says.

“Every relationship needs pudding,” Natasha says.

“Just because you don’t have anyone to share pudding with doesn’t mean you need to pudding shame,” Sam says. “Anyhow, don’t get distracted. You really invited your boss of one week out to get drinks with you and your friends?”

“And tapas,” Steve amends.

“Well, you must like him,” Sam says.

Steve sighs. “I guess I do,” he says, that strange feeling still in his chest.

— —

Friday afternoon, he and Wanda head down from the seventieth floor to the thirty-third, which is the building’s swanky cafeteria. There are plenty of Insight employees, some of whom Steve knows by name or face, but most of whom he only knows by their Insight nametags, but there are also people from the other companies that share their skyscraper sitting around eating sushi, burgers, and today’s special: shepherd’s pie. Both Steve and Wanda grab pre-made salads because they don’t want to waste time in line for hot food, but Wanda manages to snag a plate of fries to share because fries are delicious, and because they can quote John Mulaney bits at each other while they eat.

They’re just settling into their seats when Jasper Sitwell and his crew of Insight employees sit down at the table next to them. Jasper gives them each a quick nod hello before sitting down with his friends and continuing whatever conversation they were having about…

Bucky Barnes.

“What I’m saying is that it’s bullshit that I couldn’t even make my case for the project, okay?” Jasper says. Wanda glances at Steve, who glances at her, then eats a fry, keeping an ear open as Jasper continues. “Word comes down from the top that the work goes to Barnes and there’s no conversation. No way for anyone else to pitch.”

“We know,” someone says, like this is a conversation they’ve all had before. “It’s shit.”

“And when raises come up, guess who has all of the good projects to show off.”

“Barnes,” someone else agrees.

“And I come up empty-handed.  _ Again _ . It’s not like he needs any more money. You see the pictures Pierce sent around last month of their new vacation home in Utah?”

“Kind of looks like shit,” says the third man. “I hate all the rustic stuff out west. And who’d want to hang out in Utah, anyway? We’ve got ski slopes upstate.”

“Robert Redford,” someone at the table says, but Sitwell steams over them.

“Exactly. Must be a nice life sleeping with the boss,” Jasper says.

“Good numbers though,” says the fourth person, the one who mentioned Robert Redford. There’s a moment where everyone else at the table stares him down and he looks back at his plate of pasta. “Just saying.”

“It’s all bullshit,” Sitwell says. “That’s all  _ I’m _ saying.”

“You wanna move tables?” Wanda asks, her voice quiet.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I do.”

They move, but Steve’s eyes continue to flick over towards Sitwell’s table. Sitwell’s voice carries pretty far, but from this distance he can’t actually make out what Sitwell or his friends are saying. But he can hear the way that they laugh. None of it leaves a good taste in his mouth — a shame, since his fries are crisp and hot. It’s not like he feels protective of Bucky — he barely knows him — but he’s never been one for braggarts or assholes or… bullies.

Maybe that’s why he leaves the cafeteria with a sinking anxiety in his stomach. He knew he wasn’t coming to the kind of place that he’d always dreamed he’d work at, but he hates the idea of working somewhere that things are different than they appear.

— —

Bucky is four minutes late for their dinner. Steve is practically buzzing out of his skin while he and the rest of his friends wait at the bar for the final member of their party to arrive. He’s wearing the black Ralph Lauren shirt and a pair of well-fitting jeans that Natasha has told him  _ twice  _ are his most flattering. While he doesn’t necessarily look like a slob when he goes out with his friends, he also doesn’t dress up this much for the usual crowd. It’s himself, Sam, Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, and their friend from college Thor, and his friend Valkyrie. 

Honestly, Steve had been hoping that he could ride the subway with Bucky to Brooklyn after work, but Bucky told him ahead of time that he’d need to stop home before heading out — as did Steve — so he shouldn’t wait up for him. Now, he’s wishing that they’d come together just so he’d know where Bucky is and whether or not he’s actually going to show up, and—

“Steve?” asks a tentative voice from his side. 

Steve turns and feels an immediate flutter of relief. There’s Bucky, hair pushed back, looking at Steve with a small, shy smile. He’s got his hands tucked into the pockets of a long black peacoat, unbuttoned over a tight black t-shirt and form-fitting black pants. He looks like a thousand bucks, which, Steve supposes, is what that jacket may have cost.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve says, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“I like your shirt,” Bucky says, eyes moving down, taking in Steve’s chest in the Ralph Lauren.

“Yeah, you’ve got good taste.”

“Who is this?” Valkyrie asks, leaning against the bar and looking Bucky up and down. “This your friend?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says. “This is Bucky.”

Smiling, Bucky holds out a hand for Valkyrie to shake. “Bucky Barnes, nice to meet you.”

Valkyrie raises her eyebrows, looking from Steve to Bucky and back. “A gentleman, I guess,” she says, finally shaking his hand. Steve knows from experience that she has a firm grip, but if Bucky is uncomfortable from it he doesn’t show it.

From there, he introduces himself to the rest of the group, smiling and shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. He’s got the same smile and form that he had when introducing himself to Wanda and the others at their Monday morning meeting, a kind of charming but impersonal veneer. Steve hopes that by the end of the night he can be a bit more of himself; though, it seems presumptuous to assume that he knows who Bucky is by now. Still, he feels like he does, like he’s seen pieces. He wants to see more.

Once the introductions are over, Sam lets the host know they’re all here and they’re seated. It takes a while to bicker over the menu and figure out what they’ll be ordering, but they eventually settle in with a few pitchers of sangria and their first round of tapas.

“Here, try these,” Steve says, gently shoving a plate of gambas al aljio towards Bucky. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, again with that shy smile that he seems to save for Steve, and which Steve feels in his chest. 

They spend most of the meal speaking to one another. The restaurant is loud and there are conversations going on around them, but it’s easier to lean in close to Bucky and talk about the food, the decor, the general ambiance of the restaurant. And with all of the small plates being passed around, it’s easy to share from the same plate, picking at bacon-wrapped dates and artisan sausages. He doesn’t feel too bad about focusing his attention on Bucky — Wanda and Pietro have been speaking in Russian since they sat down, oblivious to what’s been going on at the rest of the table — so they’re not alone in their more exclusive attention.

“Stop hogging the new guy,” Valkyrie says after their second round of food is being cleared. “Are you single?” she asks Bucky from across the table, raising her eyebrows and pointedly looking to Thor, sitting on Steve’s left.

Bucky shakes his head. “Married,” he says, raising his left hand and pointing to his wedding band. “Little over five years,” he adds.

“High school sweethearts?” Natasha asks.

“Not really,” Bucky says. “We met when I was in college.”

“I remember dorm room hookups,” Valkyrie says with a satisfied smile. “Let’s say I taught my TA a thing or two.”

“Scandal,” Natasha says. 

“What about you?” Bucky asks, looking at Steve with a smirk. “Did you have a good time in college?”

“Oh…” Steve’s smile fades a little. He still hasn’t sold Peggy’s engagement ring; it sits in the bottom of his sock drawer and will probably continue to do so until he either moves or dies. Whichever comes first. “Well, I… I was still dating the person I dated in high school.”

“They were engaged for about ten minutes,” Valkyrie adds, unhelpfully.

“Two months,” Steve corrects, rolling his eyes. “We were engaged for two months.”

“But you broke it off?” Bucky asks, smirk disappearing in an instant, transitioning to a concerned frown.

“She did,” Steve admits.

“For the best,” Thor says from Steve’s side, wrapping an arm around his back and giving him a few hearty pats. “Frees her up to save the world and frees Steve up to go drinking with us.”

“She lives in London now and works for the United Nations,” Steve explains.

“Wow.”

“And all’s well that ends well, I always say,” Thor says. “May have hurt our boy quite a bit when it happened but look at him now! Best not to marry someone who isn’t your soulmate,” Thor says.

“Sure is,” Bucky says and something about the tone makes Steve glance over at Bucky, though Bucky’s face is neutral by the time he sees it.

“Anyhow, tell us about your husband,” Natasha says, leaning in, eyes on Bucky. Steve makes somewhat desperate eye contact with Sam, who just gives a little shrug. There’s nothing they can do now.

“He’s… my husband.” He chuckles with a nervous edge.

“Where’s he tonight?”

“China,” Bucky says. “He’s got some friends over there, goes all the time.” 

“Got a picture?” Natasha asks.

“Nat,” Steve says.

Bucky’s cheeks go a little red. “You really, uh…”

“Of course I do,” Bucky says, as Natasha reaches out. Her nails are painted a dark maroon. Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket, seems to decide on a photo of he and Alex early in his photo roll, then hands it over. Natasha looks at it; she blinks. She shows it to Valkyrie, whose eyebrows shoot up. She beckons Thor over, and Thor actually stands up and goes around the table to look at the picture. “You said you met in college?” Natasha asks, finally, after showing it to Sam.

“We did.” Bucky coughs once into his hand. “He was my boss.” He pauses. “Still is, technically.”

“Oooooooooooh,” Valkyrie says. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Thankfully, whatever place they’re going is interrupted by the arrival of their desserts. Everyone starts chowing down on churros and flan, but Natasha catches Steve’s eye, raises an eyebrow.

That’s when Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom. 

— —

Steve’s washing his hands when Bucky rolls into the bathroom. “Oh!” he says, feigning surprise, like he hadn’t known Steve would be in the bathroom he told everyone he’d be going to not three minutes before. “Hey.”

“Hi Bucky.” Bucky stops, takes a step towards the sinks and leans against them, looking at Steve. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… I wanted to talk to you, for a second. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Steve says. He pulls his hands out from the water and reaches for a paper towel to dry them off. Bucky doesn’t start speaking, however, so Steve tries, “What’s up?”

“I wanted to thank you,” Bucky says, finally, voice very level.

“For what?” Steve asks.

“Inviting me tonight.” Steve throws the paper towel away and looks at Bucky, who is looking back at Steve with an expression that Steve can’t quite figure out. It’s a different veneer this time, one that makes it seem like he’s hiding something beneath it.

“There’s a guy at the bar who’s been looking at you most of the night,” Bucky says eventually, arms crossed against his chest. He looks away from Steve, over at the decorative tile wall on the other side of the room. 

“Is there?” Steve asks, smiling. He’s not even pretending to wash his hands anymore, but they don’t leave the bathroom.

Bucky shrugs. “Been kind of obvious.” He pauses, smiles. “You could go spill a drink on his shirt.”

“Now why would I do that?” Steve asks.

“Isn’t that your signature move? Spill a drink on someone, take them to the bathroom, make them wear your shirt…” He trails off, looks at Steve with a playful little smirk. “It’s a specific kind of seduction, but hey, if it works for you.”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you,” Steve says, meaning to sound affronted but coming off soft, instead. He takes a step closer to Bucky, suddenly aware of the smallness of the bathroom, the warm Spanish red of the tile floor. Music filters in through the door, muted and gentle. Their playful banter tapers off as each of them takes one breath, then another. Steve looks into Bucky’s blue eyes, exhales deeply through his nose, then takes a step back again. He doesn’t meet Bucky’s eyes again as he says, voice cracking, “You’d know if I were trying to seduce you.” He shuts his eyes tight for a second, rubs at his temple with his hand.

He hazards a glance at Bucky, wonders if he felt the same kind of static friction between them as he did. But Bucky just stares down at his leather boots, a small smile on his face. “I suppose I would,” he says after a long moment, then sighs. He looks back up at Steve. “Thanks for inviting me,” he repeats. “I’ve had a really nice night.”

“I’m glad. You should come back out with us, when you can.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Are you leaving now?” He doesn’t mean to sound as bereft as he does. “I think everyone is planning on getting drinks. You should stay.”

Bucky nods. “I have to get home. Early morning tomorrow.”

“Something fun?” Steve asks, trying to just keep the conversation going, to keep Bucky from leaving. He doesn’t want him to go. He wants Bucky to come back to the table with him, to sit down, and to just keep talking to him for the rest of the night. It feels nice to have someone fun to talk to at things like this, where it feels like everyone he knows is already partnered off. It feels nice to have  _ Bucky _ here, who he’s only known for a week but feels a stronger connection with than people he’s known for years.

“Not really.” There’s a beat. “Good night, Steve,” he says, voice soft.

“Night,” Steve parrots back, watching Bucky leave the bathroom, the door swinging behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Soup tureens. Free real estate. An invisible car.  
"I know I'm not the best at my job."
> 
> Posting November 27th.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soup tureens. Free real estate. An invisible car.
> 
> "I know I'm not the best at my job."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming to your earlier in the day than usual, just for Snuzz.

He’s out with Sam and Natasha the next day, helping them pick out things for their wedding registry, even though the wedding itself won’t be for another two years. They’re doing it to humor some of Sam’s extended family, who want to get them stuff for an engagement party they’ll be having in a few months. Honestly, they have most of what they need kitchen-wise having both been functional adults for nearly a decade, so they’re mostly asking for a few aspirational things – KitchenAid mixer, some fancy bedding – a few silly things – ice cream maker, towel warmer – and a honeymoon fund. That’s probably why it doesn’t feel that weird to drag along their favorite third wheel along with them to Bed, Bath & Beyond.

Besides, they’re getting empanadas after, so Steve really couldn’t say no, could he?

“What about this?” Steve asks, holding up the box for a sterling silver panini press that’s out on display. “It says you can cook everything from grilled cheese to salmon on here,” he adds, reading off the box. He pauses, frowns. “Hopefully not at the same time.”

“Doesn’t match the copper theme,” Natasha says, inspecting an egg-cooking apparatus that looks like it could moonlight as a medieval torture device.

“Think of the grilled cheese, though,” Steve says.

“Scan that mother,” Sam says decisively, walking over from a display of dish towels. Steve does as he is told. Natasha rolls her eyes but sidles up next to him, sticking a hand in his back pocket. “Baby, I’m gonna show you how a grilled cheese is  _ made _ ,” Sam says and Natasha laughs as Steve scans the panini press, feeling a little smug that he managed to find something they want to add to their registry. Score one for Steve Rogers, domestic guardian.

“Do we need a special tomato soup press, then? So we can just get a gadget for every specific thing we want to make? Alton Brown would be ashamed.”

“Now that’s silly. You know Campbell’s does it perfectly, babe.” Natasha relaxes into Sam’s side. “But a soup tureen, we could definitely use that.” She straightens up, extricates her hand from Sam’s back pocket, and starts pretending to look very closely at a stack of wire cabinet racks.

“You support me in my soup tureen needs, right Steve?” Sam asks.

“You’re not marrying Steve,” Natasha mutters.

“Of course,” Steve says, not quite knowing what a soup tureen is but also knowing that Sam and Natasha will have a lot of guests at their shower and wedding and will, ultimately, need to have a lot of gifts on their registry for folks to buy. But because he’s kind of a shit, he adds, “You’ll just need to make sure your place in Jersey has enough room for me  _ and _ all this crap.”

“I am not moving to Jersey,” Sam says with a shiver.

“Then Connecticut—“ Steve starts but Sam swiftly shoves him, nearly knocking him into a display of egg timers.

They laugh and Natasha comes back over. “Are we pushing Steve? Without me?” she pouts.

“There’s plenty of pushing to go around,” Steve says, then eyes a staff member eyeing the three of them back. “But maybe when we’re at lunch.” He doesn’t want to show up in the police blotter as having been kicked out of the local Bed, Bath & Beyond. Valkyrie would have a field day making fun of that.

Laughing, Sam and Natasha make their way to the next section of the store, Steve close at their heels. As they start inspecting butter dishes, Steve feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Pulling it out, he sees a notification from WhatsApp, which he downloaded after his conversation with Bucky.

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

My coffee. Your shirt.

It’s free real estate.

He snorts audibly. “What is it?” Natasha asks.

“Sorry, just got a text.”

“Tell Wanda she owes me twenty bucks,” Sam says, turning his attention back to the butter dishes.

“Will do,” Steve says, not bothering to correct him and not examining why too closely.

** _Steve Rogers_ **

It’s actually a dominance thing. Had to let you know who the real boss is.

He’s not sure he expects a quick answer, but he gets one.

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

Don’t tell Sitwell he’s not the real boss, it would ruin his day.

There’s a pause, then another message.

Thanks again for inviting me out last night. I had a great time. :)

** _Steve Rogers_ **

I’m really happy you could come.

Feeling a little brave, he sends another message:

Do you want to grab lunch on Monday?

There’s no response for long enough that Steve puts his phone away and tries to focus on the butter dishes, then the spatulas, and finally the blenders. But then it buzzes and something in Steve’s chest settles.

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

Sure. Invite Wanda, too?

— —

Apparently week two is when things get real at Insight Incorporated. They’re notorious for having poor work/life balance and while Steve may have been shielded from the onslaught of work during his first week, it starts to pour in on Monday morning. Suddenly, he went from being able to spend time arranging his office to looking down at his drawing tablet at 9 am and not looking up until Wanda knocks on his door at noon.

So he’s surprised when he looks up and sees Wanda standing in his doorway. “Is it lunchtime already?” he asks, checking the clock. Lo and behold, it tells him that it’s 12:07. He’s late.

“Everyone’s late,” she says, picking at her cuticles.

“Seems like Bucky’s never on time,” Steve mutters, thinking of that first meeting – though his tardiness was mostly Steve’s fault —, the cancelled meeting, and the bar.

Just then, Steve’s phone buzzes with a WhatsApp message.

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

Can’t make it to lunch, sorry!

Steve frowns, letting his phone drop down onto the desk in a cavalier way he doesn’t usually treat his expensive electronics. He feels a little petulant, like he wants to whine about Bucky not showing up, which he knows is both silly and uncharacteristic.

“What is it?” Wanda asks, apparently sensing that Steve isn’t at his best.

“Looks like we’re on our own for lunch.” He pauses. “Wait, just a second…”

He grabs his phone and messages Bucky back.

** _Steve Rogers_ **

Are you going to get lunch? Want me to grab something for you?

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” Wanda asks. “I only have so long for lunch. Sitwell has scheduled something like nine meetings for the afternoon, I think just to spite me.”

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

No, I’ll be fine. Thanks. :)

Steve frowns, exhales.

“Want sushi?” Wanda asks. “I want sushi.”

“Let’s get sushi,” Steve agrees, feeling uneasy about the whole thing.

— —

“Those look great,” Wanda says as they pass by a bakery on their walk back. They went to a cafeteria-style place with great sushi and hot food bar a few blocks from their office but had a few minutes to spare, so they took the scenic route back, passing by this bakery with a colorful display of macarons in the window.

“Let’s get some,” Steve says with a smile.

If he picks out a few extra cookies, that’s on him.

— —

It takes him a couple hours to work up the nerve to go up to Bucky’s office, but around three o’clock he checks Bucky’s staff calendar to see that he’s free, grabs the bag of macarons – tied up with a little pink bow – and heads up to Bucky’s office.

He passes by the row of grey-haired executive’s offices, then pauses at Bucky’s door. The door is open and Steve peeks inside. Bucky is sitting at his desk, head in his hands, eyes shut tight, looking like he’s just trying to breathe. It’s a pose that Steve’s familiar with — it’s the look of someone barely getting through a tough day at work. It’s the look of someone who is at the end of their patience and is one step away from quitting.

More than anything, it’s the look of someone who probably wants to be left alone.

Suddenly, Steve isn’t sure that being here is a great idea. But he’s also never backed down from anything in his life, so he clears his throat.

Bucky’s eyes open and he scrambles sits up. His hair sticks up from where he’s run his hands through it. “Steve, hi,” he says.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Steve says and Bucky barks out a laugh, a little unnatural and high-pitched. “We passed by a bakery on our way from lunch and I grabbed these for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Bucky says, standing up. His clothes look the same as usual – pressed, clean, perfect. But he seems tired, deep purple bags under his eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

“I felt bad you couldn’t come.”

There’s a beat, then Bucky reaches out for the cookies. “Want one?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head. “I had a few at the bakery.”

“Right, of course.”

“You free tomorrow?” Steve asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as overeager as he is. “We could grab lunch—“

“I’m swamped this week,” Bucky interrupts, then winces, just a little. “Sorry, for interrupting.”

“It’s fine, really,” Steve says with a chuckle. “You’re swamped?”

Bucky nods. “Things kind of all fell all at once and Alex got home early and...” He trails off, shrugs. “Sorry,” he repeats, though there’s nothing for him to apologize for, not really.

“Then how about Friday night? We’re going out again,” Steve tries.

There’s a long pause; Bucky seems to visibly sag, his grip on the cookies crinkling the clear plastic bag. “Alex — my husband — he’ll be in town this weekend.”

“He could come, too,” Steve offers.

Bucky snorts a laugh. “Sorry, but…” He trails off, setting the bag down on the desk with a surprising amount of gentleness. “He doesn’t really...” Steve waits for Bucky to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t. All he does is stare down at the bag, eyes wide and frowning.

“That’s fine,” Steve says. “Maybe some other time, then.”

“Thanks for the cookies,” Bucky says with a half-hearted smile, looking back up at Steve.

“You’re welcome.”

Steve leaves, hearing Bucky’s sigh behind him.

— —

Nearly a month passes. Steve tries, once or twice, to make plans with Bucky again, but Bucky kindly demurs each time. Eventually, Steve gets the hint. That moment in the bathroom must’ve been too much; though, Steve can’t quite bring himself to regret it. So he’s resigned himself to just being one of Bucky’s coworkers, even if he really enjoys the guy’s company. So he tries to make the best of the time they do have together, like a sunny Friday afternoon in mid-May when he asks Bucky if he has any fun weekend plans lined up.

Bucky groans.

“What?” Steve asks.

“A gala,” Bucky says, mouth forming around the words like a picky kid being forced to eat spinach.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Steve says, leaning against Bucky’s desk. They’ve just finished going over some drafts for a campaign going out next week, Bucky thoughtfully but brutally taking a red pen to Steve’s work. While Steve doesn’t like being wrong, he does like being a part of a conversation. He’s worked with folks who have ripped his work to shreds but never gave an explanation of what Steve should change or do. Even though Bucky’s being exacting and precise, they talk things through, they have a real conversation about what what should and could change and what’s good left as is. He lets Steve know what he’s looking for and how they can move in the right direction  _ together _ . All in all, he’s a good supervisor. Steve likes working with him. He likes working with him a lot.

Bucky slumps in his desk chair, looking at Steve. “Here’s the thing,” he starts. “They were fun when I was twenty-two and wide-eyed, right? Free champagne and all. Getting shown off by my fancy boyfriend.”

“But now?” Steve prompts, leaning closer. Bucky doesn’t talk much about his relationship with his husband and he can’t help but admit that he’s eager to hear what he has to say.

“But now it’s just another six hours I have to wear a suit and watch people fawn over Alex.” His face goes sour and Steve wonders if he’s used to talking about his husband in this way.

It’s not surprising to hear that people fawn over Bucky’s husband. While Steve is too lowly to have met Alexander Pierce quite yet, people around Insight act as if he walks on water. Employees whisper about sightings around the halls and act like they’ve been visited by the Queen of England when he deigns to stop by their departments. Pierce apparently does a lot of international travel, so it’s a big deal when he’s around, everyone on their absolute best behavior. He can imagine that folks in the upper-echelon of New York society would do the same, given his pedigree and resume.

“You want folks to fawn over you, instead?” Steve asks, jokingly, though he knows Bucky well enough by now to know that’s not what Bucky wants.

“I just want to be invisible,” Bucky says, a few uncomfortable, barking chuckles escaping his lips before he frowns.

“Not sure that’s possible,” Steve says, then mentally reprimands himself. It’s the kind of thing he’d say to someone if they were flirting but he’s not flirting with Bucky. He’s not. Bucky is his boss and married and just… unavailable. So he quickly adds, “You should get yourself an invisibility cloak.”

“Or an invisible ship,” Bucky riffs.

“Cruise on into the gala in your invisible car, row over all of the rich folks.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure that’d go over well.”

“Think of the headlines.”

“I…” Bucky stops, thinks, then throws his head back and laughs. It’s the first time, Steve realizes, that he’s really seen Bucky laugh – not snort, not chuckle, but  _ laugh _ . It’s an unselfconscious sound, loud and abrasive and joyful.

Steve wants to chase it.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, stopping abruptly, face falling.

“Why?” Steve asks, voice catching on some emotion he still can’t quite place. Frustration? Anger? Sadness? All he knows is that Bucky shouldn’t have to apologize for laughing. He shouldn’t have to apologize for all of the things that he’s constantly apologizing for, but least of all  _ laughter _ . Least of all  _ joy _ .

Bucky shakes his head just a bit, barely even a movement. “I know I…” He trails off, looking into the middle distance for a long second. “You tired?” he asks, suddenly, looking back at Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, a little taken aback by the swift change in subjects.

“You should head out.” Bucky smiles, forced. “You’ve done a lot this week, take an hour off.”

“I…” Steve starts. How can he say that he doesn’t want to leave work, that he doesn’t want to go home, that he just wants to stay in this office and spend a few more minutes with this one other person, without coming off in a way that will scare that one other person away? “I’d like to get this done before the weekend,” Steve says, gesturing to the work set out on Bucky’s desk.

Bucky’s smile doesn’t fall, but it does fade, somehow. “Really?” he asks.

Steve nods. “It’ll bother me all weekend if we don’t.” Steve shrugs, a little ‘aw shucks’ that Bucky can probably see right through. Steve’s never had a talent for lying. “I just don’t want to be stressed about work.”

“Guess you’re a real company man now, huh?” Bucky asks.

“Or a worry wart.”

“One in the same, in my experience,” Bucky says, though it bristles at Steve. It’s not Bucky’s fault, but doesn’t want to be a company man here; he wants to leave, go do something good with his life and his talent. He’s only been there for a little over a month so far, but he’s already got job alerts set up. He can’t be an Insight Incorporated company man; he just can’t.

That’s what he tells himself as Bucky leans forward, looking over his laptop screen. His hair curls slightly, a little ringlet askew, jutting out and making its own way against the grain of the rest of Bucky’s hair. Steve could reach out, curl the hair around his own finger. It looks soft to the touch, like the rest of Bucky does. Despite the sharpness of his expensive clothes, his clean-shaven and muscular appearance, Bucky radiates softness, the same as that one damnable curl.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, turning to face him.

“What?” Steve’s cheeks go a little red; he hadn’t realized he was so damn distracted by some hair.

Bucky smiles. “You with me?”

“Yeah, I am,” Steve says, voice soft, still focused on other soft things.

“That’s—“

“Is this what you always wanted to do?” Steve interrupts.

Bucky sits back straight, blocking Steve’s view of the curl. It’s probably for the best. “Work here?” he asks. Steve nods. Bucky chuckles, shakes his head. “Of course not. I don’t think many kids dream of doing marketing for a global security firm.”

“How’d you end up here, then?” he asks.

Bucky leans back in his chair, his face falling into neutrality. He picks up a paperweight – a company gift after five years of ‘service’ that he’s seen on plenty of people’s desks – and holds it in his hand. “After my first year of college, I applied to a lot of internships. This one accepted me. Came back after my junior year for another internship, then they hired me when I graduated. I married Alex a little after that, so it just made sense that I’d stay.”

“What’d you do after your sophomore year?” Steve asks.

“Internship at Stark Industries.” Steve’s eyes bug out a little and Bucky laughs. “I know! It was a blast.” He’s grinning now, eyes a little glassy, like he’s sort of lost in the memory.

“What’d you do?” Steve asks.

“Got a lotta people coffee, but I also got to sit in with all these folks and do a little copy work. It was just...” He shrugs. “You know, Tony Stark learned everyone’s names.”

“You met Tony Stark?”

Bucky nods. “He was crazy but fun to work for. Honestly, I applied to Stark Industries after I graduated but…” He trails off.

“Didn’t get the job?” Steve asks, not without sympathy. It’s a tough job market out there and worse when they were graduating, the economy still coming out of the end of the recession.

“No, I did,” Bucky says, brows furrowed. “Insight offered to pay me more. More than they probably should have.”

“Oh,” Steve says. Both go quiet; it seems to stretch between them.

“I’m assuming this isn’t what you want to do long-term?” Bucky asks.

“Graphic design? No, that’s the plan.”

“No, working here.”

Steve shrugs. “This was never part of the plan.”

“I’ll miss you when you decide to leave,” Bucky says with a sad, small smile.

“Shouldn’t you try to convince me to stay?” Steve asks.

They look at each other for a long moment, Bucky’s eyes so blue against the sleek industrial look of his office. They stand out, beautiful and shining, but unapproachable. Steve wonders what Bucky sees when he looks at him, whether he feels the same kind of electric tension between the two of them, whether he wonders if the clock has stopped ticking, that the world has stopped rotating, when they spend time like this.

Probably not. He’s married, Steve has to remind himself. Regardless of how Steve may feel his heart pounding in his chest when Bucky is nearby, he’s married and can’t think the same way about Steve.

And as if reading Steve’s mind, it’s Bucky who breaks that tension between the two of them by speaking.

“Sometimes I don’t want to work here,” Bucky says, finally. He looks down at Steve’s shirt – not one of the Ralph Laurens. “So I understand.”

“Why don’t you leave?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s eyes flick back up to Steve’s. “Alex runs this place. I’m not… I know I’m not the best at my job. I’m lucky to have it. I wouldn’t get hired somewhere else.” He says the words robotically, repeating words written by someone else, fed to him on a teleprompter.

Steve blinks. “What.” It comes out flat, surprised.

“I mean—“

“You’re great at your job,” Steve interrupts. Bucky looks down at his lap. “I’m not blowing smoke up your ass, Buck.” The nickname slips out of his mouth so quickly that Steve barely notices; he doubts Bucky does, either. “You’re great at your job; I like working with you. You’re thoughtful, meticulous and you get good results. Everyone talks about how stats have improved since you took over this department. I…” He trails off for a second, clears his throat. Maybe he’s the one fawning now, but Bucky knows. Still, he tries to cool himself down. “I think it’s really clear that you’re great at your job.” He pauses. “And you were the only one who came over and introduced yourself to us at that first meeting. That means something, too.”

As Steve spoke, Bucky curled into himself a little, shook his head once or twice. “Listen, I appreciate you saying so, but—“

“I’m not just saying so. I know,” Steve says, his stubborn streak apparently deciding to make its presence known.

Bucky exhales. “Sure,” he says.

“You could do whatever you wanted. You don’t need to stay here if you’re not happy.”

Something shifts in the air between them. Bucky seems to edge away from Steve and when he speaks, his words are sharper. “I can’t just leave,” he says.

“I didn’t say—”

“It’s more complicated than you realize,” he says, words coming out fast. He won’t meet Steve’s eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be complicated, but if you’re not happy—”

“You don’t know that I’m not happy.” There’s something confusing about Bucky’s tone, like he wants to be sharp, but can’t make it there. It’s like there’s this edge of desperation behind the words; Steve can’t decipher what they mean.

Steve swallows hard and, without thinking, he says, “You don’t seem that happy.”

There’s a beat, a long moment where the heat between them swells into a tense bubble that pops just a moment later.

“I think you should leave for the day,” Bucky says, turning his attention back to his computer.

“Bucky,” Steve tries, but Bucky interrupts, telling him to have a good weekend. It’s the kind of tone that tells Steve that he won’t be accepting any arguments to the contrary.

If Bucky were his friend, or his family, or his boyfriend, maybe he would stay and argue. But Bucky is his boss and there are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed, as much as he aches to cross them.

Steve stands up slowly, watching Bucky resolutely not look back at him. Part of him nags himself to apologize, but he also doesn’t feel like he’s in the wrong here. Neither of them are. 

Still, it doesn’t feel good being summarily dismissed from the room like that.

“Have a nice weekend,” Steve parrots back, voice low, and leaves the office. 

He walks down the hallway with purpose, avoiding eye contact with any of the employees making their way down, until he gets to a place where he can stop. He leans against the wall, shuts his eyes tight, and spends a moment just breathing.

It shouldn’t bother him this much, he knows. But everything inside him feels like it’s dialed up to eleven when it comes to Bucky. He hasn’t let himself dissect why that is too much because he knows the answer will only depress him, but if it’s interfering with his work—

Who  _ cares _ ?

Who  _ cares _ if it interferes with his work? He hates his work here, hates what he’s helping. He hates that it makes him unhappy and he hates that it makes Bucky unhappy, too.

Because even if he was upset at Steve’s insinuation, Bucky  _ is _ unhappy. Even if he hadn’t meant to, he’d admitted it to Steve, himself: 

_ You don’t know that I’m not happy _ .

Bucky tries so hard to project an image of happiness but his distress slips through the cracks of his smile. And the fact that Steve called him out on being unhappy wasn’t why Bucky was upset. It was that Steve saw through his facade that made him upset.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters. He knows too much, he feels too much, he cares too much.

That rusted place inside his heart is chugging along too quickly, like it always does once it gets itself moving. Maybe it takes him a long time to realize that what he has been feeling is romantic, passionate, and raw, but once he does, it takes a lot to slow him down.

He doesn’t want to be falling for Bucky Barnes but he is.

And right now, he’s pretty sure that Bucky hates him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Champagne. A shame. Otters.  
“Go around the block, Bucky.”
> 
> Posting December 4th.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Champagne. A shame. Otters.
> 
> “Go around the block, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe no one called me out for actually inserting a meme into this very serious fanfiction.

The realization that the feelings sitting in his chest for Bucky are romantic puts Steve into an immediate funk. He takes Bucky’s advice and gets out of the office early, earning more than one unhappy look from his coworkers. Technically, he has permission from his supervisor, so he probably can’t get in trouble. And if he does, he doesn’t really care.

He texts Sam on the subway.

**Steve Rogers**

You busy tonight?

Of course, his coverage is spotty, so it’s nearly a half hour before he gets a text back.

**Sam Wilson**

We already have plans. You forget? 

Steve groans audibly and the older woman he’s standing next to gives him the side eye. Whatever. It’s not like he’s playing his music out loud or taking a shit like some people do on the subway.

**Steve Rogers**

Sorry, weird day. What are we doing tonight?

The answer comes a few minutes later.

**Sam Wilson**

It’s a surprise :) 

This will not end well and Steve knows it.

— —

The surprise’s name is M’Baku, a friend of Natasha’s from her kickboxing class. He’s handsome and strong with a laugh that fills the room. Natasha makes sure the two of them sit together at the restaurant and is less than subtle when she suggests the two of them share a dessert.

Normally, Steve would be pretty receptive to a handsome man putting his hand on his thigh, but it’s honestly the opposite of what he wants tonight.

So he heads on home without even kissing M’Baku goodnight.

“What gives?” Natasha asks, FaceTiming him with Sam later that evening to give him shit. 

“I think I may have feelings for someone,” Steve says, finally admitting it out loud, cementing their existence into the universe.

“Oh no,” Sam says.

“That’s about right.”

— —

Steve decides that he can’t spend the weekend moping about Bucky or his love life, so he heads out for a fun day. He catches a movie at the Alamo Drafthouse, then does some shopping. After, he meets up with his old friend Bruce and they walk around Greenwood Heights for a while before getting ice cream. After picking up some take out from his favorite ramen bar down the street, he hunkers down in his apartment for the evening, working on some prep for Sam and Natasha’s engagement party in October.

He thinks about Bucky a lot, especially when it gets dark out and he crawls into bed, sitcom reruns playing in the background not enough to distract him from his own thoughts. He thinks about a gleaming gold gala, about Bucky in a tuxedo, bored and unhappy as his husband charms the room. He thinks about what it would be like to run in, grab Bucky, and—

When his phone rings he almost doesn’t look at it. When he does, he blinks, trying to remember if someone can lucid daydream.

Because Bucky Barnes’ number is on the caller ID.

Even though he’s confused, he’s with it enough to pick up the call before it goes to voicemail; he doesn’t want Bucky to think he doesn’t want to answer.

“Hello?” he asks.

There’s a long pause. “Oh, hi, you’re awake,” Bucky’s voice says on the other line.

Steve glances at the clock; it’s a little after eleven, not terribly late, especially on a Saturday night. Maybe it’s that Bucky didn’t want him to be awake; Steve tries not to think about that too hard.

“Yeah, I’m awake. How’s the gala?” Steve asks.

“I’m leaving now.” There’s a pause. “Alex decided to stay later.”

“So you’re leaving alone?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah. I… I’ve been thinking about yesterday. That’s why I called. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“It’s really okay. I’m sorry for taking that tone.” He’s not sorry about what he said, though. He can’t apologize for that.

“I…” His voice goes too quiet. “I don’t know if I’ve had too much champagne or not enough,” he says, voice a little breathy in Steve’s ear.

“For what?” Steve asks.

Bucky chuckles. “This conversation.” Steve exhales, not sure what that means. He’d been tired and dozy before the phone rang and now he’s on high alert, filled with adrenaline. “I… sometimes I have trouble believing that people might have good intentions. Sometimes.”

“That’s…”

“Sad,” Bucky completes for him. “Anyhow, I should—”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Steve interrupts, not wanting the call to end.

There’s a pause. “Where are you?” Bucky asks, just as Steve started thinking he may not say anything else.

“In bed,” Steve admits.

“Oh.” His voice is so soft, soft like the clean sheets Steve’s laying on. “Long day?”

“Fun day. Did you have a fun day?”

“Gala prep, then gala. The champagne was good. Maybe drank a little too much of it.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Steve asks.

“Let’s not talk about tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bet you look nice in a tuxedo,” Steve says, refusing to think about how he’s crossing a line here. It’s okay to compliment your friends. He tells Sam he looks good all the time.

“I do. Bet you’d look good in one, too.”

“Haven’t worn one since prom.”

“Wish you could come to stuff like this. Everyone’s so boring, so stuffy, just waiting for you to mess up so they can laugh about it. You’re way more fun to talk to.”

“Yeah?” 

“I shouldn’t, though.”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“Talk to you.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Whatever snarky comeback he may have had dies in his throat as the world around him becomes very small, focused. Maybe he’s not so fun to talk to because he can’t think of what to say, how to interpret what Bucky’s doing here.

“I think I answered my own question.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, meaning more than one thing at once. He thinks Bucky does, too. They’re practically speaking to one another in codes. Steve thinks he knows how to decipher them, but he can’t be sure.

“I’ve had too much champagne,” Bucky says with a soft chuckle.

“I want to keep talking to you,” Steve says, too honest.

“We really shouldn’t.”

“Then let me talk to you until you’re home,” Steve says. “It doesn’t count when you’re going from one place to another. Time is different in the car, in the elevator, even when you’re on a walk. So let me talk to you for a little bit longer.”

He can feel Bucky’s hesitation on the other end of the phone call. Steve lets himself shut his eyes, imagine what Bucky looks like, riding in the back of his fancy town car in his tuxedo, chewing on his bottom lip as he decides whether or not to take this small leap with Steve. “Okay,” he says, twenty seconds and an eternity later.

Steve lets himself smile, his eyes still closed. With his eyes closed, it feels like Bucky could be in bed next to him, whispering in his ear. “How long a ride is it?”

“A little less than ten minutes more. I waited to call you, waffled about it for a while.”

So they have a little less than ten minutes to be in this tender incubator; Steve intends to enjoy every moment of it.

“Did you go to your prom?” he asks.

“Yeah, I was prom king.”

“Really?” Steve asks.

Bucky hums in agreement. “It disappointed everyone when I got caught giving the quarterback a blowjob in the bathroom twenty minutes later. He was my competition for the crown, so I thought I’d give him a bit of a consolation prize.”

Steve laughs. “Wow, that’s something.”

“One of the chaperones actually grabbed my ear and dragged me to the principal. It was a big night, I can still remember my stepdad laughing about it.” He pauses and Steve can feel him smiling at the memory. “How was your prom?”

“I wasn’t prom king, that’s for sure. But I had a good night. It was… I was high school sweethearts with a woman named Peggy. So we spent the night together. I wanted to lose my virginity that night, actually, but I chickened out at the last second.” He pauses. “We were together for ten years before I proposed. She said yes, which I guess made her realize that I wasn’t the person for her, after all. She broke it off right after our engagement photoshoot.” He swallows hard, a lump forming in the back of his throat. He doesn’t talk about Peggy much anymore. She’s got a whole life overseas, not to mention a cute girlfriend who she seems to really like. Steve doesn’t begrudge her for leaving him; they weren’t right for each other. But it hurts to remember what it was like; it hurts to relive the rejection.

“Oh, Steve.”

“It was a couple years ago now.”

“Did it suck?” he asks and Steve snorts out a laugh.

“Yeah, it really fucking sucked. It…” He pauses, about to say something that he hasn’t even told Sam or Natasha. “It broke my heart in a way I didn’t think I could heal from,” he says, voice quiet. “It’s been three years and I’m just now feeling like I can see through the fog again. When I fall in love, I tend to fall hard.”

He can hear Bucky breathe on the other end of the line. “Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he says, finally.

“It can be, if you’re married to the right person.” He’s seen marriages that have worked, that have made the people in them better than the sum of their parts. He’s also seen marriages that fall apart. It’s the luck of the draw, really, about where your life goes and who you decide to spend it with, but Steve believes that people have the capacity to love one another and devote themselves to each other. He believes it so adamantly that he doesn’t register, for a moment, the silence on the other end of the line.

Again, Steve feels that uncomfortable tension that he felt yesterday in the office and again, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. 

But then Bucky says, still in that soft voice, “The problem is that you don’t know if you’ve married the right person until after.”

And Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, whether it’s an admission or just a statement of fact.

“Looks like we’re home,” Bucky says a moment later. There’s a beat. “But I could ask the driver to take me around the block,” he says, though it’s a question.

It doesn’t take much thought on Steve’s part to say, “Go around the block, Bucky.”

And he does. Again and again and again.

— —

Steve tries to remember what it felt like to be in love with Peggy Carter. Sometimes she would look at him with those brown eyes, so intense and hawkish, that he felt like she could see through his skin and into his bones. He spent hours in bed, one arm wrapped around her bare shoulders, the other twisting one of her fluffy brown curls around his finger one way, then the other. Eventually, she’d swat that finger away, tell him to leave her be so she could get some sleep. 

Maybe that’s what their marriage would have been like, Steve wanting and her seeing through him. That’s probably why she called it off; she understood.

He ought to be grateful to her for saving him from that.

— —

Monday morning rolls around and Steve finds himself with Wanda in his office, asking him to show her a particular trick in Photoshop that she can’t quite master. 

“You see, I do that click and nothing happens,” she says, gesturing to the screen with frustration.

“You need to control click, then…” He demonstrates the movement with his tablet.

“Huh.” She pauses. “Oh, how was your date this weekend?”

“You were on a date?” Steve looks up and sees Bucky in his doorway. He’s wearing a pair of navy slacks and a white button down — no tie or jacket today. One curl falls onto his forehead and Steve’s throat goes dry. Maybe he’s always had a thing for brunettes with curls now that he thinks about it. 

“Sam set him up with a friend,” Wanda explains.

“It was an ambush,” Steve says, looking at Bucky, trying to decipher what the way Bucky’s looking at him means. “Sam just said we were getting dinner.”

“He’s handsome though. I met him a few weeks ago,” she says, looking at Bucky. “Natasha wouldn’t set Steve up with just anyone. Has to pass muster.”

“Huh, so how’d it go?” Bucky asks.

“He was nice,” Steve says, not breaking eye contact with Bucky. “But I don’t think it’s going to go anywhere.”

“That’s a shame,” Bucky says with a small smile. He walks into the office and sets a few papers down on the corner of Steve’s desk. “You forgot these in my office on Friday,” he says, then looks at Wanda. “Good to see you,” he adds, before walking away.

Later, when he’s alone in his office, Steve through the stack of papers Bucky left for him. They are, in fact, papers that he left in Bucky’s office on Friday, and he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by that. Maybe he was thinking Bucky just wanted an excuse to come talk to him. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

He flips through the papers, wondering if there’s some message in them, something he’s just not finding. It feels like all of their interactions are rife with double entendre and ciphers and these papers should be no different.

But there’s nothing. No secret message. No hidden agenda. It’s just a stack of papers left for Steve.

— —

Steve thinks he’s going crazy.

He thought the phone call meant something, he thought that something shifted between the two of them, but things stay infuriatingly the same.

He’d expected some kind of reaction from Bucky one way or the other. On the one hand, if Bucky had ghosted him out, at least Steve would know that his attention is unwanted and he’d leave Bucky alone, even if it hurts. On the other hand, if Bucky wanted more, then Steve… Well, he’s not sure what he’d do, but he’s sure he’d do something.

But there’s been no change at all. They work together. Bucky is cordial but detached. Steve makes Bucky laugh twice and smile earnestly four times — not that he’s counting. But it’s no different than how it was before.

Honestly, it’s kind of bumming Steve out.

“You’re in a funk,” Natasha tells him in early June. They’re having lunch together on a Saturday afternoon in a little hole in the wall restaurant near Steve’s apartment. He likes the place — they have a good roast beef sandwich and the guy at the counter always gives him good-natured shit about his order, his love life, what he’s wearing, even the weather. The whole thing feels pretty New York sitcom, which Steve still appreciates despite having lost most of his romantic notions about the city by the time he turned seventeen and cried at a subway station while a man masturbated on the bench nearby. But this place is nice, with a bunch of rickety wooden tables crammed together in the back and bright windows looking out onto the street in front. Every so often someone will walk by with a bag of groceries or their dog; it’s good people watching, if you can get a seat by the windows.

Natasha reaches over and steals one of the Herr’s chips from his bag. 

Steve takes a bite of his sandwich and chews, thoughtful. “Probably,” he admits.

“M’Baku said he liked you. You should call him. It’s only been long enough that it’s rude, not unforgivable.” She takes a bite of her own turkey sandwich.

Steve shakes his head. “That wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow. “Don’t be stupid,” she says and they’re not talking about M’Baku anymore.

“I know I’m being stupid,” he says. “It’s one-sided, if that makes you feel better.” Then he eats a chip so he’ll stop talking.

She shakes her head a little. “Of course it doesn’t. I want to see you happy, you know.” She picks a pickle out of her sandwich and pops it in her mouth, taking time to chew and swallow before saying, “I don’t think chasing a married guy is going to make you happy.”

The bullish part of Steve wants to argue, that there’s some way he could find happiness with Bucky. But even as he itches to disagree, he knows he can’t; there’s no clear path here and no way, even, to find one.

“Let’s go to the zoo,” she says. Steve blinks, confused. “It’s been ages since we’ve gone and seen the sea lions. I’ll even buy you a corndog if you’re good.”

“Gee wiz, Natasha, you’re too nice.”

“Seeing the red panda will cheer you up,” she adds before taking a pointed bite of her sandwich.

Well, she’s not wrong.

Which is why they’re paying the fee and walking into the Prospect Park Zoo twenty minutes later.

— —

The fact is that Steve does love the zoo. He could watch the prairie dogs scurry around their enclosure, kids watching them through plastic domes in the ground. The sea lions are Natasha’s favorite, Half-Time, Farrah, and Phoebe showing off during their 3pm feeding for fish and applause. They spend a while watching the baboons, two running around their enclosure in a game of chase, two more sitting on the rock-lined wall picking bugs off of one another and eating them.

Being at the zoo makes him feel like a kid, eager to learn and to sketch. He hasn’t picked up a sketchbook in ages, since he realized that making a career in art was an impossible dream and rather than fighting the windmill, he should try to make a career out of graphic design instead. He spends too long watching the otters swim around the little stream in their enclosure, one of them popping out to lay out in the sun and dry their wet fur.

“Are you done staring?” Natasha asks, fingernails clicking onto the glass screen of her phone as she types. “I want to get to the red panda.” 

With just a little regret, Steve straightens up and smiles at his friend. “You can pull me away,” he says; though, a moment later, a zookeeper comes into the exhibit with what must be otter chow. The otters hop out of the water and start waddling towards him, one rubbing up against his leg.

“Can we watch them be fed?” Steve asks, feeling like a kid begging his parents for a treat.

Natasha laughs, then pats Steve on the cheek. “Sure, son,” she says with a serious nod. “But remember this the next time I ask you to wash the dishes.”

Steve laughs and turns his attention back to the zookeeper. He’s an older man with tan skin, dishing out food for the otters into a large plastic bowl while talking to someone else standing on the side of the exhibit, behind some artfully placed reeds. “… Your mother wanted to go on the cruise next March, if you can get away. It’s supposed to be real nice, has this whole area for shopping on the boat with art auctions. And the food is all you can eat, even for the seated meals. You just say you want more soup and they’ll bring you more soup.” He pauses and looks down at one of the otters before saying in a cutesy voice, “Bet you little buddies would like that, huh?”

“I’ll have to check things out,” the other figure says. He’s facing away from Steve but his voice sounds familiar. Steve takes a step around a kid very enthusiastically pointing to one of the munching otters to try to get a better look at who it is.

“We’re scheduling far in advance so you can try to make it,” the zookeeper says. He’s got greying hair and a bit of a paunch but kind brown eyes. “Your mom and I really want you to come, if you can. We know you’re busy.”

“I want to be there, it’s just…” he trails off.

“I know, buddy.” The zookeeper stands up and when the other man steps back to let the zookeeper forward, Steve can finally see who it is.

“Bucky?” he asks, not exactly expecting to see his boss standing in the middle of the otter exhibit at the Prospect Park Zoo.

Bucky blinks, then his face spreads into a smile. “Are you following me, Rogers?” he asks, voice joking, not serious.

“This is too coincidental,” Natasha mutters as Steve grins. “This is too coincidental.”

“Who’s this?” the zookeeper asks, wiping his palms off on the khaki uniform shorts.

“Steve Rogers, one of the graphic design folks. And that’s Natasha Romanov, a friend of his.”

“Oh, so you work at Insight,” the zookeeper says, his smile going a little forced at the edges. “Don’t see many Insight folks around here, that’s for sure.”

“I live in Park Slope,” Steve explains. “Not far at all.”

“Glad to hear you’re still working with boys from the neighborhood,” the zookeeper says, giving Bucky a pat on the back.

“This is my step-dad, Salvatore. He’s a professional otter whisperer,” Bucky says, gesturing to Salvatore, who grins at Bucky like he hangs the sun.

“Well, at least on the weekends. I work the Saturday shifts so Winnie and I can both get Mondays off. I spend a lot of time working with the kids over by the mongooses on weekdays.”

“Winnie’s my mom,” Bucky explains.

Salvatore nods. “Sometimes when this one’s got nothing to do he stops by to see the otters.” He reaches over and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Not supposed to let him in here but haven’t gotten yelled at yet.”

“It was a lot cuter when I was twelve.”

“I dunno, there’s something pretty cute about this,” Natasha says, eyeing Bucky and his step-dad, then Steve.

“Aw shucks,” Bucky says. “Though we should probably get going. The prairie dogs won’t feed themselves.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Salvatore says before they disappear back into the otter habitat.

Natasha turns to Steve. “Red panda?” she asks, voice all feigned casualness, as if they hadn’t just had a wholly weird encounter.

“Sure,” he says. “We can go see the red panda.”

— —

He stops at the corner grocery on his way home and picks up fixings for homemade ravioli. Making fresh pasta isn’t as hard as you think it will be, but it’s not easy, either. He started making ravioli back when he lived with Sam; it’s one of Sam’s favorite comfort foods and Sam still credits Steve’s ravioli with getting him through several tough breakups. It’s not something Steve makes often, but it’s a good way to clear his head for a few hours and just focus on the task in front of him. So he turns on some soft music, pours a glass of white wine, clears off his meager counter space, and starts in on the dough.

Of course, he’s wrist-deep in pasta dough when his phone starts ringing.

“Aw jeez,” he mutters, trying to wipe his hand off on the dish towel he had hanging over his shoulder before putting his sticky fingers on his phone. He had a feeling who was calling, but he’s heartened to see that his inclination was correct: it’s Bucky.

“Hello? Bucky?” he asks, trying to hold his phone between his ear and shoulder as he goes to the sink to wash his hands.

“Hi Steve. You free for a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” Steve says, pumping some soap onto his hands and flipping on the water. Of course, it’s too hot, so he pulls his hands out quickly, adjusts the water, then tries again, only half-focused as Bucky starts talking.

“I just wanted to say, uh, it was nice running into you today at the zoo.”

“Yeah, it was… the otters looked fun. I like the otters, they’re fun to watch. They swim.” He winces, knowing how stupid he sounds. It’s just that he’s focused on too many things at once and that’s hard, when hearing Bucky’s voice makes him go a little mushy in the brain.

“Yeah, they… I just wanted to ask you if you wouldn’t mind… not talking about it.” His voice is very measured as he speaks, like he’s thinking through every word.

“What?”

“I mean, at work.”

“That’s… sure. But why?” he asks, confused.

There’s a long pause. “There’s some people at Insight who think that my family is pretty… funny.”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” Steve asks, frowning as he picks up a washcloth to wipe his hands off on.

“Sure, but not everyone’s is a major topic of conversation.” He sighs. “I can’t stop you, but—“

“I won’t say a word.” Steve won’t press as to why, but he can imagine folks like Sitwell making a big deal out of the fact that Bucky’s stepdad is a zookeeper. Not that there’s anything wrong with the profession, but if there’s already tension between Bucky and other people at Insight, everything and anything could become ammunition in a toxic work environment. There are a lot of jokes that can be made about someone who works near animal poop.

There’s another pause. “Thanks,” he says. “Did you have fun at the zoo?”

“I did. You go there often?”

“When I can.”

Steve looks down at his free hand, sees the pasta dough stuck beneath his fingers. He pulls in his hand, balls it into a fist for a second, then lets it relax. He doesn’t know why their conversation is suddenly so stilted and awkward; he doesn’t want it to be this way.

“Your stepdad seems like a nice guy.”

“He is. He…” He trails off.

“You can tell me,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice soft, to keep the panic that’s been welling inside of his chest all week from spilling over.

“Oh, well, it’s just… I was pretty messed up after my dad went to jail, right? So I didn’t like Salvatore much at first but…” Steve can hear something shift on the other end of the phone call, like Bucky’s making himself more comfortable. “He’d take me with him to the zoo on weekends and I’d just follow him around and he’d tell me which animals I could touch and which I couldn’t. No pressure to talk or anything, but it was nice. He didn’t have to. Now I know he wasn’t ever even allowed to.”

“So you’ve known Salvatore for a while?”

“Yeah. He married my mom when I was thirteen. They started dating when I was eleven.”

“So you’re pretty well acquainted with all of the otters.”

There’s a beat, then Bucky laughs. “Yeah, I guess. You always surprise me,” he adds.

“How’s that?” Steve asks. He crosses his apartment and takes a seat on his navy couch. He’s got a studio, not so much because he can’t afford something a little bigger, but because he doesn’t want anything bigger. It’s just him and his stuff and this is enough for him right now. He doesn’t need to worry about vacuuming anything else.

“You didn’t ask why my dad’s in jail,” Bucky says as Steve settles in, pulls his feet up onto the couch.

“Oh,” Steve says. He looks back over at the kitchen table, at the mess of pasta and filling sitting there. “If you wanted to tell me, you’d tell me, I guess.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” Steve says.

“You’re out of the gossip loop,” Bucky says, chuckling. It’s a different sound than his earlier laugh, more forced.

“Don’t really want to be in on it,” Steve admits. He pauses. “Is that why you’ve been a little aloof this week?”

There’s a long pause. “Have I been aloof this week?” Bucky asks, voice level.

“Maybe I was reading into things.”

“I just want to make sure that our relationship stays professional,” Bucky says. He exhales. “Alex warned me a couple weeks ago that I really shouldn’t befriend my coworkers. It could look bad.”

“I think the two of us look pretty good,” Steve tries and Bucky snorts.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” Steve pauses, picks at a spot on his couch, even though there’s nothing there. “So you don’t want to be friends?” he asks. He should feel worse about asking the question. It’s making Bucky choose, in essence, and it’s an unfair decision. But he asks it anyway.

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky says. There’s rustling, like Bucky’s changing positions. “Of course I want to, I just—“

“Then let’s be friends,” Steve interrupts.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Seems like nothing worth doing is.”

Bucky sighs. “Seems like you’re just difficult,” he says as Steve’s AC unit pops to life in the corner of the room, begins spewing out some cold air.

“I’ve been accused of that before.” He pauses. “Are you busy tonight?”

“Alex is back in Beijing for a few days so I’m taking my parents out to dinner.”

“That’s nice.”

“Why?” Bucky asks.

“I’m making homemade ravioli. Thought you might want some.”

“You’re really spending your day off making ravioli?” Bucky asks and Steve can hear the smile in his voice. “You should take a break, get some takeout.”

“It’s cathartic,” Steve says. “Gets my mind off of things.”

“What is your mind on?” Bucky asks.

“Work,” Steve says. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie, either. 

“Stressed about the stuff due next week?” Bucky asks.

“A bit.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re doing great work.” There’s a pause. “I should go, mom’s getting restless.”

“That’s okay, just… Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

The air conditioner turns back off and the soft background music playing in the apartment seems just a little bit louder now.

“I want to be your friend,” Steve says.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“I know.”

— —

When he’s finished his batch of ravioli — he froze half for another night and has the rest cooking on the stove — he finally looks back down at his phone. He has a WhatsApp notification from about twenty minutes before waiting for him.

**Bucky Barnes**

My dad’s in jail because he killed a guy when I was ten.

Steve sits down, doesn’t even notice that his pasta goes from al dente to overcooked as his fingers hover over the keyboard, as he tries to figure out how he can even respond to that.

**Steve Rogers**

Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine what that’s like.

It doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

**Bucky Barnes**

He was always a really angry guy. My mom left him a year before that. I didn’t see him much.

**Steve Rogers**

Do you see him now?

**Bucky Barnes**

When he found out I was gay he told me I was dead to him. Not much of a loss.

**Steve Rogers**

Must’ve been stressful.

**Bucky Barnes**

Very.

Unsure of what to say, Steve sends Bucky a picture of the ravioli and Bucky responds, in turn, with a picture of the pizza he’s having with his parents. Their choice of restaurant, he writes. Steve responds, but doesn’t get anything back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Gnocchi. A break in. $25.  
“My husband, James Barnes, is especially complimentary.”
> 
> Posting December 11th.
> 
> (Next week's chapter has my favorite scene in the whole fic and I am very excited to share it with y'all!!!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gnocchi. A break in. $25.
> 
> “My husband, James Barnes, is especially complimentary.”

The two weeks of Saturday night calls sparks something between them. Without either ever acknowledging it, they start talking every Saturday night.

There’s no set time when Bucky calls, no schedule that Steve can adhere to or prepare for. Sometimes their conversation lasts fifteen minutes, a brief respite for Bucky when Alex is out of the room, and sometimes they go on for hours. Three months pass like this, summer turning to fall, Steve and Bucky talking about everything and nothing at all on Saturday nights and pretending that their relationship is strictly professional during the week.

It’s driving Steve crazy.

But at the same time, Saturday night quickly becomes his favorite part of the week.

He’s out with his friends one night at a bar he’s too old to be at, talking to a guy he should pay much more attention to, when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Oh jeez, uh… excuse me…” He says, smiling at the guy, then quickly scooting out of the place. “Bucky, hi,” Steve says once he’s outside, pressing his back to the brick alley wall. He shuts his eyes, feeling the gentle tides of having had just one too many drinks.

“You’re somewhere noisy,” Bucky says. “Having fun?”

“More fun now,” Steve admits, a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he should have a filter. Drunk Steve, however, is louder and much more interested in having no filter at all.

“I won’t keep you,” Bucky says.

“Please keep me.”

There’s a pause, then Bucky chuckles. “You should go out, have fun.”

“You sound like you’re a hundred years old,” Steve complains. “Come out and have fun with me, Buck,” he adds. “I’ll text you… I’ll text you the address,” he stutters as the world spins a little.

“I can’t come out.”

It’s that strange, unspoken thing that they dance around every time they talk. How Bucky can very rarely go out, how he seems to have very few friends of his own, how Alex controls nearly aspect of his life. Steve wants so badly to talk about it, to have Bucky just spill it all out and tell him about every detail.

But he doesn’t and Steve can’t press him to.

“I wish you could.”

There’s a long pause, then Bucky asks in a soft voice, “What would we do?” His tone shifts to a warm place, a gentle curiosity.

“If you came out?” There’s the actual answer to the question, and then the answer to the unspoken question. Steve decides to say hell to it and answer the unspoken question, sick of obfuscation and lying to themselves and each other. “Well, we’d go somewhere nice, somewhere quiet.”

“You wouldn’t want to stay out with your friends?” Bucky asks.

“Not tonight but another time, if you want,” Steve promises. “I’ve had enough for tonight. We could go somewhere quiet, somewhere with good food, too.”

“Like what?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“Gnocchi,” Steve says. It’s the first food that comes to mind but it’s also the perfect food, pillowly, delicious, decadent. The sort of thing that Steve would never think to make for himself but would definitely order on a date.

“I could go for some gnocchi.”

Steve shuts his eyes again, lets himself fall into the vision of an Italian restaurant, Bucky in the seat next to him. There’s white table cloths, soft light, and a candle flickering in the middle of the table. Maybe they’ll have salads first with a tangy vinaigrette, split a bottle of red wine. And after their server gives them their plates, Steve’s knee will shift, just a little, until it’s touching Bucky’s underneath the table.

He doesn’t realize that he’s actually speaking his internal monologue aloud until Bucky’s voice comes through, soft and yearning, but not without warning, “Steve,” he says, strained.

He’s not going to let himself be ashamed of this, not right now. Shame is for the morning, he decides. “Maybe dessert, something chocolate.”

“Cake,” Bucky says, voice sounding more decisive, sounder, than it has during the rest of their conversation. It fills Steve up, makes him feel more confident.

Steve chuckles. “Yes, cake. Something fudgy.” He pauses, takes a breath. “Maybe I tell you I’m too full to eat.”

“I can’t eat it on my own,” Bucky says.

“We could wrap it up. Take it back to my place. Would you want that?” His heart’s beating faster, like he’s actually asking Bucky to do it, not like he’s standing in a dirty alley with no hope in the world.

There’s a pause, then Bucky’s voice finally comes through. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Then we could walk to my place. It’s a really nice night.”

“A perfect night, really.”

Steve swallows hard. “I could take your hand.” It’s almost like he can feel Bucky’s phantom hand in his, the ghostly weight of insurmountable desire.

There’s a pause, but not as long as Steve would’ve expected. “Only if you’re carrying the cake.”

“I’m carrying the cake,” Steve says, face splitting into a happy smile, relief pouring through him. “I’ll carry the cake the whole way home.”

“Then we can…” His voice trails off. “And then your place?” he prompts.

“I can light a few candles, dim the lights before we sit down on the couch with the cake.”

“Glad we’re actually gonna eat that cake.”

“Wouldn’t let it go to waste. But my couch is kind of small, we’ll have to sit close together.”

“I don’t mind.”

A breeze passes by, the cool promise of fall in the September air. Yet, with whiskey in his stomach and Bucky’s voice in his ear, there’s something warm and reassuring about the world around him.

“But before we start to eat, Bucky, I… I could lean in, I could—“

“ _ ROGERS _ !”

Steve looks up, drop kicked out of his trance as he sees Natasha storming over his way.

“I wish I could come out tonight,” he hears Bucky say softly on the other line. He can just barely hear Bucky sniff before hanging up the phone.

Steve looks up at Natasha, whose face softens as she walks over. “What happened?” she asks, angry energy draining from her as she gets a better look at Steve.

He hadn’t realized that his eyes were so damp. “Natasha,” he says, closing the space between them and wrapping her up in a hug. “I’m so screwed.”

— —

He hates to be the downer on his friends’ well-deserved night off, so he shrugs off their concerns and heads out on his own. Even though the night is perfect, he feels too lonely to walk home alone or take the subway, so he splurges on a Lyft, opening up his phone back up in the backseat. He gets into WhatsApp and stares at his ongoing conversation with Bucky, stilted and work-oriented.

He types:

_ I want to take you out. _

Then he deletes it.

He shuts his eyes, thinks, then opens his eyes and types it again.

And he doesn’t press send.

He does, however, have the Lyft driver drop him off a block before his apartment so he can stop at the liquor store before he goes home.

— —

Natasha and Sam show up at Steve’s door on Sunday morning with bagels and the  _ New York Times _ wedding announcements. They’re both wearing sunglasses and shorts; it’s a hot September day, the kind of weather that people should be outside in, soaking up the heat before they have to hunker down for the winter. Naturally, Steve is inside, wrapped in a blanket, too tired to even throw away the empty wine bottle sitting next to his bed.

He kind of wishes he never gave Natasha keys.

But he also knows that Natasha knows how to break in.

“Go away,” Steve says, muffled underneath his blanket.

“You’ve had twelve hours to drink and feel sad. Now’s the time to face the day,” Natasha says as Sam pulls the blanket off of Steve’s head. He grimaces, which Steve doesn’t think is fair. He can’t look  _ that _ bad.

“Man, did you sleep at all?” Sam asks, leaning forward to poke at the purple bags beneath Steve’s eyes.

“I passed out around four,” Steve mumbles, swatting Sam’s hand away. He looks at the clock next to his bed — it’s 9:30 — and groans.

“Five hours is enough sleep,” Natasha says, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed. She hands him a bagel and flips open the newspaper.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks, then takes a bite of the bagel; it tastes like heaven, if heaven could also stop the acid sloshing around in his stomach.

“Allowing you to wallow.”

“Got a schedule. First this, then we’re gonna moodily walk through Prospect Park on our way to the Alamo Drafthouse, where we’re going to catch the new horror movie,” she says.

“After that, an early dinner at Junior’s, grocery shopping on the way home so you have supplies for the week, and then we’ll have you gently tucked back into bed before nine,” Sam continues. “Maybe you can even get six hours of sleep tonight.”

Steve feels himself shrinking back, both touched and confused, and feeling undeserving. “Don’t you have things to do today?” he asks.

Sam gets himself into the bed next to Steve, even though it’s a tight fit with the three of them. “Ignoring the years of friendship you’ve already put in, you’ve just spent the last six months planning our wedding with us. You’ve gone to cake tastings, dress fittings, scouted locations. I know that Riley is  _ not _ helping you with any of the engagement party prep, as much as you give him credit.”

“Yeah but, that’s not bad stuff. It’s fun.”

Sam shakes his head. “Spending time with you is fun, too,” he reminds Steve. “Even when you’re hurting.”

“I…” Steve trails off. He doesn’t know what to say.

“You really like this guy, right?” Sam asks.

Steve nods, grabbing his blanket in his hand and squeezing it tight. “Yeah,” he says, voice cracking.

Sam and Natasha share a brief look, then Sam looks back at Steve. “I’m not gonna mince words with you: that’s stupid. But we love you and we want you to be okay, so we’ll figure things out.”

“I’ll be okay,” Steve promises. “I’ll get over this.” He says it and he tries to believe it, but right now, thinking of his conversation with Bucky last night… He has trouble believing himself.

“Let’s just do today, okay?” Sam asks. “One step at a time.”

“Okay,” Steve says as Natasha pulls out the paper and starts reading the wedding announcements.

Steve relaxes into Sam’s side and Sam puts an arm around his shoulders. He’s not paying much attention to what Natasha’s reading in the wedding announcements, but the sound of her voice and the familiar trite phrases of the announcements themselves lull him into feeling a little bit less like a monster. It’ll be okay. Sam and Natasha are his best friends; they don’t judge him or hate him or think that he’s evil for falling for a married man. But Steve can also tell that they don’t think this story will have a happy ending.

That’s okay. He’ll find his happy ending, some way or another.

— —

Steve even manages to have a good time on Sam and Natasha’s Cheer-Up Boot Camp, but when he wakes up on Monday morning, anxiety sits in his gut like sludge. Even though Natasha kept her promise and had him in bed by nine, he didn’t fall asleep until two, and whatever sleep he managed to grab was fitful. He almost considers calling in sick to work when his alarm goes off on Monday morning, but he knows that the longer he takes to face Bucky, the worse it will be.

That’s why it’s such a surprise when it’s not actually Bucky he ends up having to face on Monday.

Just as he’s setting his things down on his desk, Fury pops his head into Steve’s office. “Meeting in the conference room in fifteen,” he says.

“Just like the good ol’ days?” Steve asks, their tradition of Monday morning meetings dissipating after their move to Insight. So much of the team is spread around the company that they’d barely have anything to talk about anyway, so they meet once a month, but even that doesn’t always happen.

“Something like that,” Fury says as he moves onto Wanda’s office.

Steve sighs, looking around his small box of an office and wondering what the hell he’s doing there and whether he’ll have the chance to catch Bucky this morning after all. Probably not. The afternoon will be fine, he tells himself. He tells himself that he just needs to see Bucky, know that he can face him after their conversation on Saturday, and he’ll feel much better.

Or at least he hopes that’s the case.

He waits a minute, then goes to Wanda’s office so they can head down the three floors to the conference room together. They exchange pleasantries but are both quiet as they step onto the elevator together. It’s tough to be social on a Monday morning with an unexpected meeting and unknown agenda.

It’s not until he’s sitting down at the conference room table they sat in on their first day that he bothers to ask Wanda if she knows what’s happening.

“You tell me,” she says, fiddling with her pen. Steve frowns; she shrugs. They wait as the room fills up, Fury walking in last with an older man that Steve doesn’t recognize.

“Looks like everyone’s here,” Fury says from the front of the room, the man standing next to him. “Just wanted to call a little informal meeting so you can meet our fearless leader. This is Alexander Pierce, founder of Insight Incorporated.”

Everything stops for a second.

Steve’s heart thumps in his chest, his throat goes dry. He looks at the man, smiling at Fury before his eyes turn out to inspect the room. He’s older, which Steve already knew, but it’s different knowing that he’s almost seventy and actually seeing him in person. His once reddish hair looks sapped of color. Not grey, per se, but drained. His skin is wrinkled and his eyes are a slate blue. His clothes are as well-tailored and distinct as Bucky’s are, almost annoying in their impeccability. He’s wearing a grey suit, white shirt, and navy tie. Everything about him looks immaculate.

Steve could spit.

Pierce’s eyes look over the room, starting from the opposite end but eventually finding Steve’s. Steve has to carefully school his expression, make it seem like his hand isn’t shaking, his heart isn’t racing. He hasn’t put into words why he feels such animosity towards Pierce before. It’s not just that he has feelings for Pierce’s husband — though, that’s a consideration — but it’s the way that Steve knows he treats his husband. Bucky seems to have no friends, no life, no meaning outside of his husband and his whims. This man  _ controls _ Bucky in a way that Steve doesn’t think is right. He knows he has no business sticking into his nose into someone else’s marriage but he’s also not someone who can back down from an inclination.

And it’s not just Steve’s imagination when Piercee’s eyes linger on him for a second longer than they linger on everyone else.

“Good morning everyone,” Pierce says, addressing the room as Fury sits down next to the empty seat at the head of the table. He’s still smiling, but it’s a casual business-like smile. No one’s fooled into thinking he’s really enjoying whatever it is he’s doing here but they’re all supposed to appreciate that Pierce is putting in the time and effort to meet them. “I’ve heard a lot from Insight management about how well your team has been doing in the few months you’ve been a part of the company, so I wanted to come introduce myself and thank you for your great work.”

Steve glances at Wanda, who glances back at him. It’s unspoken, but it’s good to know he’s not the only one who gets a bullshit vibe from all of this.

“We have a few new initiatives we’ll be pushing through here in the next few months. It’ll be a lot of work for everyone here at Insight Incorporated but this team is truly ready to introduce the next phase in security and defense technology to the United States and the rest of the world. You all will play an important part in that and I’m grateful for your hard work.”

The brutal reality of what Steve’s doing for work day to day comes crashing down on him as it does, every so often. He swallows hard. It’s easier to separate himself from the fact that his work contributes to terrible things when he’s simply designing a promotional material than when he’s staring the former director of a Bush Administration defense agency.

“Let’s go around the room for introductions,” Pierce says, sitting down next to Fury.

So they do go around, Pierce nodding and smiling as each person introduces themselves, gives a little bit of information about what they’ve been up to since they started at the company.

And then it’s Steve’s turn. “Steve Rogers. Marketing graphics.” It’s curt and he knows it. Fury gives him a look that’s saying  _ go on idiot _ but Steve doesn’t have anything else to say. That’s who he is and what he does; he doesn’t need to let Pierce know a single other thing about him.

If Pierce is perturbed by Steve’s shortness, he doesn’t let it show. He simply nods and smiles like he does for everyone else, then moves onto Wanda, who talks a little bit about her work with Sitwell’s team.

Of course, Pierce is a very busy man, so the meeting doesn’t last much longer than that. Steve can’t say he minds and stands up moments after the meeting is adjourned, hoping to get himself out of there and back to his office before anyone can talk to him. Of course, Fury has to ruin his plan.

“Rogers,” Fury calls just before Steve can get himself out of the door. “Hold back a second.” 

Wanda catches his eye as he holds the door open for her. He shrugs, then slips back into the room, taking a deep breath and walking towards Fury and Pierce.

“Steve Rogers, just wanted to have a little chat with a rising company star,” Pierce says. Steve glances at Fury, who gives him a  _ do not fuck this up  _ look, which is probably warranted given his curt introduction a few minutes ago, but kind of makes Steve want to roll his eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Don’t believe the rumors,” Steve says. Fury’s eye widens with exasperation but Pierce just chuckles, raising his eyebrows and looking at Fury for a second before looking back at Steve. It’s politician for  _ my, how charming, this young man’s insubordination _ .

“Good things, I assure you. My husband, James Barnes, is especially complimentary.” When he says his husband’s name, he hesitates for just a moment, looking at Steve. It’s a test and they both know it.

“Bucky’s great to work with,” Steve says, happily using the nickname that Pierce refuses to use.

If it bothers him, though, Pierce doesn’t show it. His poker face is as impeccable as his suit. “It’s kind of you to say so.” He pauses for a moment. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve got an eye on you.” 

Steve blinks. “What?” he asks, not expecting Pierce to be so forthcoming about his intentions here.

“In a positive way,” he continues with a smile, though there’s something steely about his expression that Steve doesn’t quite read as positive. “We’re always looking for talent here at Insight. Most of our management started out at the bottom of the ranks, you know. We train people up and promote from within.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Fury interjects, “is that you show a lot of potential.”

“Oh, thanks,” Steve says, confused. He does well when he’s working with Bucky, mostly because Bucky pushes him to do so and he wants to make Bucky’s life easy. But Steve can’t honestly say that he’s put forth nearly as much effort into his work at Insight as he did when he was at ShieldDesign. In fact, he’s felt unmotivated since he stepped through the doors of Insight and knows his work has reflected that.

Either Alexander Pierce has exceedingly low expectations or there’s something else going on here.

“Keep things up,” Pierce says. “You’re doing a good job.”

“I appreciate that.”

Pierce reaches over and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He grips, maybe a little harder than Steve would like. “You’ve got a bright future here at Insight, Steve Rogers,” he says, pats him twice, and goes on his way.

Steve looks at Fury who watches Pierce leave the room, then shrugs. “He has no taste.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Steve says, though he’s not talking about himself.

— —

He’s still trying to figure out what his conversation with Pierce meant when he gets back to his office and sees that he’s not alone. Bucky’s sitting in the chair on the opposite side of Steve’s desk, holding his head in his hands and looking unhappy. Seems kind of like that’s one of his frequent positions. “Bucky?” Steve asks, shutting the door gently behind him.

Bucky looks up, then pops up out of the chair, jumpy and sudden. “Steve, hi,” he says, voice breathy.

“Hi. Are you—”

“I needed to see you, I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.” He pauses. “I didn’t… I thought the meeting may be over, I mean, I didn’t know how long it would take. I thought I’d wait in your office.”

“It’s fine, that’s okay,” Steve says. From the way that Bucky’s sounding, it seems like he wasn’t the only one nervous about meeting today. “I don’t mind.”

Bucky exhales. “I’m…” He trails off, runs a hand through his hair. “How was the meeting?”

“Fine,” Steve says, then adds, “I met your husband.”

There’s a change, suddenly. It’s like all of the nervous energy drains from Bucky, his face going white, his entire presence dampened. Bucky goes jittery to repressed in an instant. “Oh, you met Alex?” he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice light.

“He came and introduced himself to the whole group. It was a quick thing,” Steve adds. “He says he’s going to keep an eye on me.”

Bucky nods, looking down at Steve’s shoes. “He likes to keep track of things.”

“Probably a good idea when you run a company.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yeah, probably.” He moves his gaze over to Steve’s desk, eyes on a little glass paperweight on the corner of his desk. “Anyhow, I just came to tell you about a new project,” he says, brow furrowed.

“A new project?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods, still not looking at Steve. “Alex sent a memo out this morning about a new AI initiative that he wants to be our main focus for next quarter. I’m starting a marketing plan from scratch. I’d like you to be my number two, if you want it.”

“Your number two?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods, eyes still focused on the paperweight. “We’d be spending a lot of time together.” His eyes flick to Steve’s, then back down to the desk. “It may be a couple of late nights at the office, too. There will be some tight deadlines. I’d understand if you don’t want—”

“I want to,” Steve interrupts. He takes a step closer to Bucky and the desk, picks up the paperweight Bucky’s been eyeing. Bucky looks up at him, swallows hard. “I want to be your number two,” he says in a soft voice.

“Good,” Bucky says, his voice lowering to match Steve’s soft tone. “I wanted you to say yes.” He smiles, a tick of the corner of his lips. There’s something hopeful in it that Steve wants to pull out, bring in closer.

Steve can’t help but smile back. “I look forward to working more closely with you, Bucky.”

“Me too,” Bucky says, eyes flicking down to Steve’s lips, then back up to his eyes. He takes a breath, then reaches out for Steve’s hand. Steve’s brow furrows with confusion as he looks at what Bucky’s doing. “That’s an interesting paperweight,” Bucky says, fingertips trailing the paperweight’s edge, then the soft skin Steve’s hand, ghosting over the flesh with the lightest touch.

Steve can barely breathe, but he manages to say, “It was a gift.”

And then, like it never happened, Bucky pulls away, then heads for the door. “I’m looking forward to working with you more closely, too.”

Watching Bucky leave, Steve’s grip on the paperweight loosens so much that it falls to the floor and shatters. 

— —

Steve knows he shouldn’t want this.

While he hasn’t been cheated on, he has friends who have been. He watched the way Wanda cried after seeing her boyfriend in bed with someone else, held her and told her it would be okay. He remembers finding a young woman in his college dorm screaming at a closed door a few away from his, telling her partner to open up unless she had something to hide. Turned out, she did.

People get hurt by this; there are people who are collateral damage.

But it doesn’t stop Steve from wanting. And he thinks it may not stop Bucky from wanting, either.

— —

With the new project, they spend time together every day, a few hours huddled together in Steve’s office collaborating on the marketing copy for this new AI system. Steve’s office is small and when Bucky pulls an extra chair behind the desk, their thighs just barely touch, but they do touch. Sometimes Steve will need to guide Bucky on some computer program or another, his own hand ghosting over Bucky’s on the mouse, the smooth metal of Bucky’s wedding band cold against Steve’s skin. And when Bucky looks at Steve for a moment too long, Steve doesn’t shy away, turn his head. He looks back at Bucky, everything he wants plain on his face.

And then Bucky will smile, almost apologetic, clear his throat, and return to work.

If it wasn’t what Steve wakes up for in the morning, it would almost be too much. But somehow, it’s just enough to keep Steve going.

— —

“I can’t come over today,” Bucky says once Steve’s picked up his office phone a month after their project started. It’s a cool October morning, the sun poking out between the clouds to light the Manhattan skyline outside of Steve’s window.

“Oh,” Steve says, looking down at his desk with a frown. He reaches out and starts playing absently with the container of paperclips on his desk.

“I’m caught up in unexpected meetings most of the morning, then Alex wants to do this thing tonight.”

“What thing?” Steve asks, though he knows there’s no answer Bucky can give that will make him feel any better.

“Dinner at some restaurant, I don’t know. I just…” He trails off. “If you don’t mind staying a little later tomorrow night, we can work then. It won’t... You can come in a little late one day later this week and we can order dinner and have it delivered on the company.”

“That’s no problem,” Steve says, dropping the paperclip he’s been playing with and straightening up in his seat.

“Really?” Bucky asks.

“Not at all.” It’s not exactly a night out together, but it’s time together, particularly, time together outside of the watchful eyes of the rest of the staff. Just time that they can relax around one another and not have to  _ worry _ .

It’s not like Steve is going to make a move or do anything stupid. Steve just want to be able to look at Bucky without thinking about who else is looking at them while he does it.

“It’s… I won’t be, I won’t make a habit of it.”

“It’s fine whenever.”

“I know you have things to do.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

There’s a long pause, then Bucky says. “Okay, see you then.” Then adds, “Think about what you want for dinner, too. I think it’s a $25 maximum for each of us.”

Steve has an idea or two.

— —

It seems silly to be eager to stay at work late, but he goes through Tuesday with a sense of anticipation. A little before five he gets an email from Bucky, telling him that it would be a good time for him to come upstairs if he’s ready. Steve practically yanks his laptop off of his charger and hustles to the elevators.

The elevator dings, the door opens, and he steps inside.

“Oh, hello Steve,” Alexander Pierce says. “What floor are you looking for?” he asks, hand hovering over the buttons on the far side of the elevator door.

“Hi,” Steve says, nerves ramping up another level. Of course, now would be the time to run into Bucky’s husband. “Seventy-four, if you don’t mind.”

“Visiting James?” Pierce asks, a little knowing look in his eye.

“Working on the AI initiative.”

“Glad to see you’re both on it,” Pierce says. “How old are you?” he asks as the doors shut and they start moving up.

“Uh, thirty,” Steve says, confused by the question’s relevance.

“James’ age, practically.”

Steve nods. “I guess.” Bucky is two years younger than Steve is, but compared to Pierce, they’re about the same age.

Steve stares at the elevator wall but he can feel Pierce’s eyes on him. “Are you intimidated by me Steve?” Pierce asks, tone friendly, almost amused.

“What?” Steve asks, glancing over. Pierce is smiling at him, hands in his pants pockets.

“By all accounts I’ve heard you’re a friendly guy but you seem to clam up when I’m in the room. So are you intimidated? Or is there another reason?”

That’s a question with a lot to unpack, probably. Alexander Pierce doesn’t intimidate Steve for the reasons he should. Steve should be intimidated because this man is his bosses’ boss, a powerful man with a lot of political influence. Steve should be intimidated because with a nod in the right direction, Alexander Pierce could ruin his career and maybe even his life, if he wanted to make that kind of effort. Steve should be intimidated because every moment he spends with this man in this elevator, Alexander Pierce forms more of an opinion on him and probably not a good one.

But the fact is, Steve doesn’t care about any of that. What he cares about is the fact that Alexander Pierce has a lot of power and a lot of authority in this world and he seems to wield them in ways that makes his husband isolated and unhappy.

God, the fact that he calls him James when he prefers Bucky is enough to make Steve’s hackles rise.

But at the same time, he doesn’t have any real proof that Pierce has done anything terrible to Bucky. Bucky hasn’t said anything incriminating and even though he wants to fight back, Steve knows that he needs actual proof before he can throw a punch — verbal or physical. And with about thirty seconds left in their elevator ride together, there’s not a whole lot of sleuthing that Steve can hope to do. So Steve plasters on a smile and chuckles. “It’s not every day you ride in an elevator with the former Director of Threat Reduction,” he says with an  _ aw shucks _ shrug.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” Pierce says with a tepid laugh of his own and a clap on Steve’s back. Just then, the doors open and Steve steps out, happy to be rid of Pierce, but Pierce follows close behind. Steve turns around confused and Pierce says, “May as well say hello to James.” He gestures Steve forward with a flap of his hand. “Go ahead, lead the way. I know you know where his office is.”

Steve nods and does just that, heads towards Bucky’s office, though it feels like his legs are coated in concrete, each step difficult. He feels like he’s leading the executioner to the jail, bringing Pierce over to Bucky. Pierce stays behind him, close at his heels, and Steve can’t help but feel like it’s some kind of power move, a way to test Steve and maybe even Bucky, too.

Bucky’s office door is open when they get there, so Steve knocks twice on the side before poking his head in. “Hi,” he says.

“Steve!” Bucky says, jumping up from his chair and grinning. “Thanks for agreeing to stay late, I…” His voice trails off. “Oh, you’re not alone.” He’s still smiling, but it goes forced at the corners. His eyes dart around like he’s been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t. Steve gets the feeling that Bucky is not a great liar. He can relate.

“No need to jump up for the likes of me,” Pierce says, walking around Steve and into the office. He crosses the space and walks up to Bucky, slinging an arm around his hips and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Anything you need tonight, James?” he asks, looking at Bucky like he hung the moon.

Bucky’s eyes flick from Pierce over to Steve and back. “No, we… I’ll just be working,” Bucky says, smiling. He clears his throat and stands up a little straighter, seeming to gain some of his lost composure back. “You know how it is when R&D rolls something new out.” He lowers his voice and leans in a little closer to Pierce. “And I know how big this is for you, too.” Steve swallows hard and bites the inside of his cheek watching the two of them.

“Well, you’ve got Steve here to keep you in check,” Pierce says, smiling down at Bucky, then looking up at Steve. “You married, Steve?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Steve says. He can’t bring himself to look at Bucky, just keeps hard eye contact with Pierce. Maybe he’s showing his hand a little too much here, but he doesn’t want to look at Bucky looking at Pierce with such appeasement.

“It’s bliss when you find the right person,” Pierce says, not breaking his own eye contact with Steve. He does seem to pull Bucky in a little closer, however.

Steve starts cracking his knuckles.

“It’s a good thing you found the right person,” he says, trying to keep himself calm.

“Took a while, but I did. Third time’s the charm.” Pierce finally releases Bucky from his grip and makes his way back towards the door. Just before he’s about to leave, he pauses, turns back and looks at Bucky. “And James?”

“Yeah, Alex?”

“Don’t forget that the dinner expense is only $25. Okay? Wouldn’t want another issue.” He smiles sweetly. “As much as I do love cleaning up your messes.”

“I won’t forget,” Bucky says quietly, looking down at his feet as Pierce leaves the room.

Steve waits a few moments until after the door has closed and the sound of Pierce’s footsteps have disappeared down the hall to take a step closer to Bucky and ask, “There a story there?”

Bucky shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I added a couple extra bucks on as a tip one night it was raining, then got called in for an ethics violation.”

“Really?” Steve asks.

“Alex was pissed as hell.” Bucky takes a seat in his office chair, slumps down a little, wrinkling his shirt. He presses his hand to his forehead and shuts his eyes. “This was right after I started working here full-time and thought I’d catch a break if I messed up once or twice, being new and all. Alex and I were keeping things quiet, too. Turns out, people were just waiting for me to mess up here. Still are.”

“Alex included?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks up at him, quirks the side of his lip. “He would really like me to quit and stay home.”

Steve takes a breath. “Why don’t you?” he asks, finally, not sure what else there is to say.

Bucky shrugs. “I’d get bored. I also like seeing people, talking to people. I’d pretty much be a hermit if I were a house husband. At work, there’s at least the chance to talk, to make friends.” He looks Steve up and down. “Hang out with my graphics guy.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Steve says.

“Are you?” Bucky asks, smile turning to a smirk.

“Just a little.”

Bucky looks away, over his desk and through the window. It’s still light out, but the sun is starting to go down, casting the city in a warm, early evening light. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” he says, voice soft. They stay where they are, Bucky looking out the window, Steve looking at Bucky. His features look so warm right now, the sun overpowering the usual overhead fluorescent light. Things feel so safe, so warm right now, that Steve hates to break the moment.

But he does.

“Does he get angry with you often?” Steve asks and the spell is broken.

Bucky’s eyes dart over to Steve, then back to the window. He swallows hard, his shoulders curling, shrinking into himself. The way Bucky contorts himself is almost enough for an answer for Steve without Bucky verbalizing it, but he wants to hear Bucky say it out loud, wants to have some kind of proof for the inklings that he’s been harboring for the past few months. Finally, Bucky says, “He’s opinionated.” It’s not enough.

“I…” He pauses, takes a step closer to Bucky. “You can talk to me, if you want,” he says, keeping his voice level.

“Steve,” Bucky says, that warning again, watching Steve as he approaches with a tight posture.

Steve kneels down on the ground next to Bucky’s chair. Bucky’s brow furrows, confused, as Steve reaches up and takes Bucky’s hand in his, holding it gently for a moment before giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes don’t leave Bucky’s as he asks, “Are you happy?”

Bucky takes a breath, then another, before slowly pulling his hand from Steve’s loose grip. He smiles, a show that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course I am.” He keeps smiling but his eyes are watery, his nose turning a little red. “What do you want for dinner?”

And all of a sudden, it feels like too much. Everything about this office, about this  _ life _ , feels too constricting as he kneels inches from Bucky but can’t break the barrier between them. Careful to keep his composure, Steve stands back up, dusts imaginary dirt from his knees. “I’m fine with whatever you want, Buck. Just gotta go use the restroom.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, his voice unsure as Steve leaves the office.

It’s a short walk to the bathroom but Steve almost wishes it were longer. He wishes he could jump from the window in Bucky’s office, land on his feet, and just run — wild and unbridled through the streets of Midtown Manhattan, feeling the wind in his hair and the sun on his skin.

Instead, he braces himself on the linoleum counter, closes his eyes, and counts his breaths: 

One, two, three, four, five, in and out, in and out.

Eyes closed, his imagination takes over. He can see Bucky slipping into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him, then locking it. “Buck?” he’d ask, but Bucky would just shake his head. Bucky would come forward, chest-to-chest with Steve. They’d just look into each other’s eyes for a long moment, both scared to breath, scared to break this moment that they’d know was the point of no return. But then Bucky would inch closer, eyes darting from Steve’s eyes down to his lips. Steve would just barely nod, an okay for what would be about to happen. And then finally, finally, Bucky would close that space between them and—

Someone walks into the bathroom. Steve’s head jerks up, guilty like a middle schooler getting caught cheating on a spelling test.

“Look sharp, Rogers,” Jasper Sitwell says before walking to a urinal.

Steve chuckles, tepid, then splashes a little water on his face before heading back to Bucky’s office.

“I ordered Italian,” Bucky says from behind his desk.

“Sounds great.” He can feel how tired he is in his voice and in the force it takes him to stretch his mouth into a smile. 

“Gnocchi, if that’s okay.” Steve looks up, sharp. Bucky’s eyes meet his over his computer screen. “I had a craving,” he adds, sounding almost helpless with a heart-wrenching smile.

Steve’s words get stuck in his throat, but he manages to say, “Sounds great” like a record on repeat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> A hand-written invitation. Important people. A bruise.  
“I let him.”
> 
> Posting December 18th.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hand-written invitation. Important people. A bruise.
> 
> “I let him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incredible MsPooslie posted her gorgeous art for this chapter! You can check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811036)! Pooslie, you were a pleasure to work with. I appreciate your hard work, your enthusiasm, and your flexibility! These boys look so good when you create them!
> 
> I also wanna thank softestbuck for her beautiful word art of ["Go around the block, Bucky"](https://twitter.com/softestbuck/status/1202735082139766784) and lattelyy's [portrait of Bucky](https://lattelyy.tumblr.com/post/189614966157/bucky-for-mambos-fic-a-company-man-that-i-put). I feel incredibly spoiled and very grateful to all of you.

Steve is still yawning over his Wednesday morning coffee when Bucky bounds into his office, grinning. “Hey!” he says, setting a bag from the bakery in the building’s lobby down on Steve’s desk. “Got you a pain au chocolat.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, unable to keep himself from smiling as he looks over Bucky, who is just radiating a happy energy this morning. “You seem cheerful.”

“I’m…” Bucky shrugs, bites down on his bottom lip, just seems to take Steve in at his desk for a moment before continuing. “I just found out Alex is going to be away this weekend on business. Apparently he has some factories to look at out in Guangzhou or something.” Neither of them go into detail as to why that makes Bucky so excited; neither need to. “So if you aren’t sick of seeing me at work, I was wondering if we could run into each other somewhere on Saturday.”

“Yes,” Steve says without thinking. Then he pauses, groans.

“What?” Bucky asks, smile fading just a little.

“It’s…” Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He curses his timing. “Sam and Natasha’s engagement party is this Saturday.”

Bucky’s face falls, though he keeps smiling. It’s a look that Steve is becoming increasingly familiar with, the way that Bucky tries to keep himself from expressing negative emotions even though his own face betrays him. “That’ll be great. You’re the best man, right?” Steve nods. “Hope you have a great time.” He takes a step back, edging his way towards the door.

“You could come,” Steve says.

“I couldn’t just invite myself,” Bucky says, stopping in his tracks.

Steve straightens up, smiles. “You wouldn’t be. I’m planning it with Sam’s best man, so I’m in charge of the guest list.”

“Isn’t it a little late to be inviting someone else?” he asks. “Especially someone who isn’t friends with the bride or groom.”

“You’ve met Natasha,” Steve says and Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve thinks for a moment, then reaches for the pad of post-its on his desk. He quickly writes out ‘PARTY. 5-10 PM. SATURDAY. BROOKLYN. Y OR N?’ on one.

“Here’s my formal invitation,” he says as he holds the post it out to Bucky. “Hand-written  _ and  _ delivered. Now that’s fancy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but accepts the post-it from Steve. He reaches over to Steve’s mug of pens and pulls one out, then uncaps it. He looks up for a second. “Is it really okay if I come?” he asks. “It won’t be an imposition?”

“They’re registered at Bed, Bath, & Beyond,” Steve responds with a smile as Bucky circles the Y on the post- it and hands it back to him.

“So I guess I’ll see you this weekend.” He’d been nervous and excited about the engagement party for a while now, but an anticipation of a different kind starts filling his chest at the prospect of seeing Bucky outside of work, away from all of the people that make their lives difficult, and in a fun environment. It’s different now, than it was with the tapas back in April. It feels like he’s bringing someone who he really cares about back to the people he loves.

“Yeah, I guess you will.” Bucky bites down on his lip again and just looks at Steve for a moment, a real smile spreading across his face before he says goodbye for the day to go to a series of meetings.

Steve picks up the bag and takes a bite out of the pain au chocolat, suddenly a lot more excited for the weekend and honestly, about life in general.

— —

“Looks like you managed to pull this thing off,” Riley says in his slight southern drawl as he throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

They’re standing at the entrance to the St. Mazie Bar & Supper Club in Williamsburg as swing music plays in the background and a few of the early party guests mingle in the bar. Steve rented out the whole place for the evening: the iconic bar, the romantic garden with low-hanging grapevines, and the supper club below. Technically, Riley was supposed to help him plan, but it just made sense for Steve to take on the bulk of the work, since Riley’s in D.C. and sort of still putting his life back together after getting out of the Air Force.

It may be a kind of unconventional place for an engagement party but Natasha was never going to have a conventional engagement party. In fact, she wouldn’t be having an engagement party at all if it weren’t for the fact that she refused to have a wedding shower and Steve wanted to do  _ something _ for her and Sam before the wedding in May. And all things considered, this wasn’t much more difficult than planning a wedding shower. Sure, instead of tepid salads they’ve got gumbo and oyster shooters, and rather than annoying questionnaires about the bride to fill out to win bad-smelling candles, a jazz combo will start playing in a half hour, but Steve thinks people will have fun anyway.

“Seems like it’s all coming together,” Steve says, a little distracted, hoping that people will remember to go outside onto the beautiful patio. It’s a chilly night, but there’s some torches out, so it’s heated.

Riley pats him on the back. “Stop worrying yourself,” he says. “Look how magical all of this is!” He gestures to the room, decked out with warm lights and a few tasteful decorations. Natasha made sure to request that nothing too garish in the decor, which Steve was happy to oblige. “You get yourself some food and start enjoying this party you made happen, you hear?” Riley says.

Steve shakes his head, but smiles, eventually allowing Riley to take over greeter duty so he can mingle and get some of the food for himself. He’s filling up a plate with risotto when Sam sidles up to him. “Food’s great,” he says.

“Not as good as your mom’s, which she really lovingly told me.”

“She wants to cater the main event,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “I told her that after raising my brother and I, she’s done enough, but she won’t rest until she’s spending the entire wedding day behind a stove.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Steve says, putting a hand on Sam’s back and giving him a pat, careful not to spill his precious risotto. He’s heard great things and it’s even Sam’s mother-approved, so he knew he had to grab some when a fresh batch came out of the kitchen.

Sam shakes his head. “I’m worried it’s a lost cause. You’re gonna have to be her date for the night if you really want that to happen.”

“I’d be honored,” Steve says, laughing. Sam’s mom’s crush on Steve is well-known and, frankly, makes Steve feel pretty good about himself. She’s a great lady and he’d be so lucky. “So you like the party?” he asks. They chatted when Sam and Natasha got there, but he’s been busy since.

“Don’t know how you pulled this rabbit out of your hat, but this is great. Gonna make the actual event look like my eighth grade graduation.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Maybe not,” Sam says, shrugging. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I feel really lucky that you’re our best person,” Sam says. “Riley, too,” he adds, out of solidarity and also because he and Riley have some kind of terrifying telepathy thing going on from their time serving together.

Steve moves his arm down and around Sam’s waist so he can give him a squeeze. “I love you,” he says, voice maybe cracking just a little bit. He’s so lucky that they were paired together in their first-year English course in college. He can’t imagine what life would be like without him. Also, his English grade.

“Love you, too,” Sam says, smiling and they just look at each other for a few seconds, risotto getting colder by the second. But the cold risotto is worth the knowledge that Steve’s best bud is really living the good life that he deserves. Steve wants to imprint this moment — and this whole party — into this memory, make it one of those special times that he can whip out when he’s feeling sad, like a Patronus for the heart.

And then someone says, “Sorry to interrupt,” from the side of them. Expecting one of Sam’s many cousins, Steve turns, but is happily surprised by who he sees, unable to keep the smile off of his face. “Congratulations,” Bucky tells Sam, reaching out his hand. Sam extricates his own free hand from Steve’s waist and shakes it, careful to balance his plate of food with the other.

“Wow, Bucky, good to see you. Didn’t realize you were on the guest list.” He shoots Steve a  _ we will talk about this later _ kind of look as Bucky shoots Steve a  _ we will talk about this later _ kind of look, and if the two of them ever started hanging out, they’d be a force to be reckoned with.

It would be really nice if they started hanging out, though. It would be really nice if Bucky could just be a part of all of this: Steve’s life, his friends.

“When Bucky told me his husband was out of town this weekend, I gave him an invitation.”

“It was very formal, the nicest post-it I’ve ever gotten,” Bucky says.

Sam shakes his head. “Well, I guess you were in charge of the guest list,” he says. “Anyhow, you two have some fun. Lord knows you deserve it, Steve. I’m going to eat more food to fortify myself and then greet my cousins.” He picks up a few pieces of asparagus from the table to add to his plate, then vacates the area, leaving Steve and Bucky alone, surrounded by people.

“I’m really glad you made it,” Steve says, grinning. He’s not even thinking about how cold his risotto probably is now, so distracted is he by Bucky’s presence, the way Bucky looks in the dark light of the supper club. He looks like he could’ve stepped his way out of an old time Hollywood romance, dark-haired and handsome with a spark in his eye, the love interest that the main character falls for instantly.

Bucky shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Had nowhere else to be. Thought I’d get myself a free meal.”

“The food is really good.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Then he looks down to Steve’s plate. “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“Technically, I haven’t eaten,” Steve says. “Why don’t you grab a plate and join me? I’ve heard the deviled eggs are good.”

Bucky looks down for a second, then back up at Steve through his long lashes. “You don’t need to babysit—“

“I want to hang out with you,” Steve interrupts before Bucky can finish the sentence. “I invited you. Be my date for the evening.” So focused on his own happiness, about how everything about this night seems to be turning out the way he wants, he doesn’t even realize the word he used until it’s already out of his mouth.

The word  _ date  _ hangs between them for a long moment. Bucky’s eyes widen half a fraction; Steve feels like he can’t breathe. The room around them feels bigger, less crowded.

“Make Sam’s mom jealous,” Steve adds, hoping to break the tension, even though there’s no way Bucky could know about Sam’s mom’s crush on him.

Bucky’s eyes bore into his. Somewhere above them, the band starts playing something jaunty and feet stomp on the dance floor. Around them, people start speaking a little louder, and the staccato clank of utensils against serving bowls chime. Finally, Bucky’s shoulders relax and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re looking for trouble,” he says.

“That’s not a no.”

“Steve.” He shakes his head but he’s smiling. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be your…” He doesn’t say the word, just sidles up to Steve. “Let’s go get me some food.” He glances down at Steve’s risotto. “And maybe something hot for you.”

Steve doesn’t want to say that he already has something hot right next to him but from the way that Bucky rolls his eyes at him again, he thinks Bucky already knows.

— —

It shouldn’t feel so right, introducing Bucky around to the people who he cares about. Sam’s mom pinches Bucky’s cheek and tells him to go eat something. Thor’s brother Loki invites him to go horseback riding sometime, even though Loki doesn’t like anyone and has a weird thing about horses. Even Natasha brings him out on the dance floor for a fast number. Bucky catches Steve’s eye while they dance, grins wide.

From the sidelines, Steve mirrors his expression back at him.

But as the party cools down, Bucky asks, “Can we go see the patio?” He’s grinning, a little bit sweaty and mussed from spending so much time jumping around with the wedding guests and Steve.

“Of course,” Steve says, secretly happy. The patio is Steve’s favorite part of the restaurant, though the low temperature has kept it pretty much deserted throughout the night. But it’s nice to feel the cool air on his skin and to stand underneath the dangling grape vines. When the door shuts behind them, the noises of the party grow muffled, distant. 

It feels like they’re in another dimension, similar enough from their own to be familiar, but different enough to be exciting and full of promise. It also feels like they’re alone in this strange new space in the best kind of way.

“I thought parties like this were only on TV,” Bucky says, voice quiet, turning around to touch the pergola’s wooden beam.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Just…” He drops his arm, shrugs. “It all seems a little  _ Friends  _ to me. Everyone knowing each other, dancing. Riley’s fun; he made me dance with his husband.”

“Riley’s great,” Steve says. “Stuff like this happens a lot. You’re welcome to join me, join  _ us _ , whenever.” Bucky looks at Steve over his shoulder and Steve decides to play ignorant. “They’re your friends, too, now. Everyone likes you.”

“That’s not why…” Bucky trails off and sighs. “When’s the wedding?”

“Year after next,” Steve says. “A little ways away but not too early to celebrate.”

“Will it be similar?”

“Probably,” Steve says. “This is the kind of couple they are.” Sam and Natasha bring warmth and love wherever they go. Even if every detail of the wedding is different than the engagement party, Steve knows that the feelings will stay the same. It’s just the kind of people Sam and Natasha are, and it’s part of why the two of them work so well together.

“That’ll be nice,” Bucky says, turning back to face Steve, leaning on the pergola.

“What was your wedding like?” Steve can’t help but ask.

“Big.” Bucky pauses, purses his lips. “George W. Bush was there.”

Steve grimaces but manages to keep himself from saying anything too bad. Still, he can’t help but ask, “Did he give you one of his weird paintings?”

“Thankfully, no,” Bucky says with a soft chuckle. “It wouldn’t match Alex’s modernist decor.” He reaches out and touches a leaf between his fingers, spends a minute just feeling it underneath his fingers. “I knew maybe ten people at the wedding but that didn’t matter. Alex did the talking. I just stood there and looked pretty. That’s my job.”

“How many people were there?” Steve asks as the band starts playing a different song inside. Some folks start cheering.

“Four hundred.” The number seems kind of unfathomable to Steve; he’s not sure he knows four hundred people total, let alone having four hundred people he’d want at his wedding. And then it hits him how alienating it must have felt to be in a room of four hundred people supposedly celebrating you but only knowing a handful. Bucky smiles, like he knows what Steve is thinking. “Alex said he wanted to keep things small. There were a thousand people at his second wedding.” He rolls his eyes. “And then he said something about the Astors and how only four hundred people could fit in their ballroom. It all seemed pretty convoluted to me, but I agreed.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugs. “It sure was a night.”

“Did you have fun?” Steve asks, not sure what else he can ask without getting angrier at Alexander Pierce than he already is.

Bucky hesitates for a long time, attention still focused on the grape vines, tracing them around the pergola with his eyes. “Does anyone have fun at their wedding?” he asks, finally.

“Bucky, I’m pretty sure people do. I’m pretty sure that’s the point.”

“I mean… it’s, there’s a lot of pressure, having a wedding like the one we had.”

“A big wedding?”

“With important people,” he says lowering his voice and nodding seriously, an impression of his husband. Then he relaxes, shaking his head. “And it was… we got engaged in March, and it was a huge surprise because, well, we had never talked about it, and he never really proposed to me, not like you’re supposed to.” He’s rambling a bit, like he’s having trouble articulating what he’s trying to say but unable to keep the words from rolling out. All Steve wants is for him to keep going, to hear Bucky’s story, to know what he’s feeling. Steve wants to know all of Bucky, all of the parts that Bucky feels like he needs to hide, all of the parts he’s forced himself to shut down.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, feeling almost desperate with the need to know.

Bucky looks at Steve for a second, then looks at the wall, gaze a little vacant, lost in memory. “It was my birthday and he told me he had a surprise for me. I thought it was going to be a watch or something but he handed me the  _ Times  _ and saw our engagement announcement.”

There’s a beat.

“What?” Steve squawks. Inside the restaurant, a few people hoot and holler, and outside, a cold wind blows by.

“I couldn’t really say no,” Bucky asks, crossing his arms over his chest and shivering. Steve takes a step closer, but stops himself from going over and doing anything stupid like offering to warm Bucky up.

He does ask, “Would you have said no, if he’d actually proposed?”

Bucky looks out somewhere into the distance, takes a breath. “I was twenty-three. I graduated college less than a year before, I…” He shakes his head, his eyes still vacant. “I didn’t think he was serious about anything we were doing. We were barely public. I never thought he’d want to marry me.”

“He trapped you.”

Bucky looks up, sharp. “I let him,” he says, voice carefully neutral. Something pulls at the corner of his lip, his face slipping into something close to devastation even as he tries his best to keep himself put together.

“It’s not the—“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts. He takes a step closer to Steve, but hesitates. The soft music changes to something slow. “I love this song,” he says, voice lighter. He smiles, his eyes still watery. “Wanna dance?” he asks.

“Sure,” Steve says. While it’s no burden to dance with Bucky, it still takes all of his restraint to keep himself from egging on the conversation, trying to convince Bucky that he was wronged. But if this is what Bucky wants from him, he’ll do it.

Bucky closes the space between them and Steve wraps his arms around Bucky. Bucky slips into the space like he’s meant to be there, resting his face against the crook of Steve’s neck. They move together quietly, Steve shutting his eyes and swaying along with the distant music. Bucky hums along, his grip on Steve tight and growing tighter as the song moves along, like he knows that it won’t last forever.

“What is this song?” Steve asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“ _ Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye _ . Kind of sad.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, even though he doesn’t know the song, can’t even hear the lyrics from inside. But he can understand the feeling in each slow, yearning note.

“ _ There’s no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor _ ,” Bucky sings, voice soft. “Do you think Sam and Natasha will be happy together?” Bucky adds a moment later.

“Yes,” Steve says, sure of it.

“They’re lucky,” Bucky says. A hundred different things pop into Steve’s mind, but more than anything else he wants to say,  _ we could be lucky, too _ . But before he can, Bucky continues, “But we have this. We can have this.” Bucky’s fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as he says it, like he’s trying to get closer, trying to cling to Steve.

Steve pulls back for a moment and looks at Bucky, really looks at Bucky, who stares back at him, the same hunger and want in Steve’s eyes mirrored back to him through Bucky’s. Steve’s eyes wander downward, cataloging each part of Bucky in this moment, from the slick hair to his plush lips to…

Steve’s throat goes dry as he sees the tip of a purple bruise, peeking out just above the starched collar of his dress shirt. Bucky traces his gaze, looks down, then pulls in close to Steve again and holds him tight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, feeling weak but swaying Bucky back and forth until the song ends and the party starts to disperse.

— —

Bucky starts pulling away after that night. They continue working together, but there’s less touching, fewer stolen glances. Steve gets no call the next Saturday night, nor the Saturday after that. An air of melancholy rests over the two of them when they’re together, unspoken words that hang above their heads when they talk about deadlines and drafts.

Work becomes unbearable; Steve starts looking at job boards and getting in touch with his contacts to see if they know of any open positions he’d be suited for. He tells himself that he never planned to stay at Insight for long, anyway, so it’s not a big deal.

And he tells himself that it won’t be so bad when he leaves, and that he can figure out how to live his life without Bucky Barnes.

He’s just not so sure he believes himself, is the thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Some cover. An elevator. $26.  
“I know that you, I mean, I do, but you...”
> 
> Posting January 8th.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cover. An elevator. $26.
> 
> “I know that you, I mean, I do, but you...”

It’s the first truly cold day of November when Bucky walks into Steve’s office. It’s only mid-morning but he looks exhausted, the purplish bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual, the entire way he’s carrying himself not unlike Eeyore with a cloud hanging over his head. Even though Bucky can’t see his computer screen, Steve clicks out of an email from a prospective employer asking him for an interview next week just in case Bucky were to stand behind his desk for some reason. Though, he hasn’t found a reason to do that in a while.

“Hi Bucky,” Steve says, feeling a little like he’s been caught red-handed, but given the hangdog way that Bucky looks right now, Steve doubts Bucky has it in him to be all that upset. It makes Steve’s chest burn to see him like this, but even the knowledge that Bucky doesn’t want him to feel the way he does can extinguish the burning sensation. Maybe it makes it worse. That’s not something Steve wants to think about right now. Instead, he tries to tamp it down the best he can.

“Hi,” Bucky responds. They spend a second just looking at one another, that fierce pang of longing still present in Steve’s chest, just better restrained now.

Steve clears his throat. “What can I do for you?” he asks, a consummate professional, to be sure.

Bucky looks down at the far wall as he starts to talk. “I know it’s late notice, but would you mind staying late tonight?” He doesn’t give a reason why and he doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

“Of course,” Steve says, an automatic reflex.

Bucky’s shoulders slump a little in relief. “Great, thanks.”

“Bucky…” Steve starts, the words _ are you okay? _ Dying on his lips.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, looking up and at Steve for the first time since he came into the office. God, he looks ill.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

It doesn’t feel good to ignore it. It doesn’t feel good to feel like he can’t help — it’s all Steve wants to do. Restraining himself, keeping himself from jumping in where he’s not wanted is almost too much to take, especially when he knows that he’s not alone in this.

When Bucky leaves his office a few moments later with a half-hearted smile, Steve bites down on his lip so hard in frustration he nearly breaks the skin.

He then responds to the recruiter’s interview request – he sets it up for next Wednesday.

If he can’t help Bucky, then he can’t stay here.

— —

Steve knocks on the frame of Bucky’s open door like usual. Bucky doesn’t even look up at him, just keeps typing something on his computer. “Come in,” he says. It’s not the warmest welcome he’s ever received, but there’s still the stupid part of his brain that’s just happy to have alone time and close proximity with Bucky.

“Hi Buck,” Steve says. “I have the—“

“Hey, close the door,” Bucky says as Steve’s about to sit down.

Steve blinks, confused. “Okay,” he says, going back to the door and shutting it. “So what’s on the agenda?” he asks.

Bucky’s quiet for a long moment, still looking at his computer. Finally, he looks up. “I have nothing,” he says. He laughs without humor. “I spent all afternoon trying to come up with something but I have nothing.”

“Oh.” Steve’s brow furrows in confusion. “Well, I can—“

“Steve, I…” Bucky interrupts. He sighs, shuts his eyes for a second. “I just need some cover.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

Bucky hesitates, then exhales. He looks over at the closed door, eyes on it the whole time he speaks. “Alex and I got into a bad fight last night. If I go anywhere besides work, he’ll know I’m avoiding him and he’ll…” He trails off. “He’s a smart guy, he knows I’m avoiding him by staying here, but he can’t be mad at me for being at work.” His voice cracks a little as he adds, “At least, I don’t think he can.” After another breath, he looks up at Steve. His face falls into a frown as he says quickly, his words tripping over each other, “This is stupid. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay, I’m sorry, you can—”

“I’ll stay,” Steve interrupts. “It’s not a problem.” When Bucky just stares at him, confused, he says again, “It’s no problem, Buck. I’ll stay as long as you like.”

“I…” he trails off. “Thank you.”

Steve settles into the chair across from Bucky and smiles. “I’m happy to help.”

And he is, genuinely. He’s glad that Bucky felt like he could come to him, that he can provide at least a bit of safety for him.

Still, the part of Steve that wants Bucky to be safe aches to ask Bucky what they fought about, what Pierce said or did to him that has Bucky wanting to stay far from home. But there’s the barrier between them. They’ve rarely talked about Alex; he’s the subject the two of them have always danced around. Thinking back to the bruise on Bucky’s chest at the party, and even further to the bruise on his arm when he changed his shirt the day they first met, Steve thinks he knows why now.

“How have you been?” Steve asks instead.

“I’ve missed you,” Bucky says, quick on the draw, then shakes his head. “And apparently I’ve lost all resolve.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I’m sorry for being distant.”

“I understand why.”

Bucky swallows. “Thank you for staying,” he says, voice thick.

“It’s really no problem,” Steve says, smiling. “Do you want to work or do you wanna just…”

“I don’t mind not working,” Bucky says.

“Here,” Steve says, standing up and walking across the room to the window. He sits down beneath it. “Let’s just hang, okay?” He pats the space next to him, right in a sunbeam. 

Biting his lip, Bucky nods, following Steve to the spot and sitting down next to him, so close their sides are touching. He looks up at Steve. “How are you?” he asks.

“I feel pretty good right now,” he says, voice low, unable to keep himself from smiling. They both know the unspoken part of the answer: Steve hasn’t been great. But Steve doesn’t want to trouble Buck with that right now, as hypocritical as it may be to keep his feelings to himself when all he wants is to know Bucky’s.

Bucky leans into Steve’s side for a second, then pulls away. They’re still close, but Steve understands what it means – no. It’s okay; it’s just nice to be close.

“Did you see last night’s game?” Bucky asks and then they just talk for a while about absolutely nothing.

It’s the best Steve’s felt in ages.

— —

It happens again the next night and the night after that. On Friday, Bucky doesn’t even have to ask Steve. Steve just emails him when he gets him, saying he’ll be at his office after five.

They’re just finishing up their dinner — $26 per person and ordered by Steve, since they’re not technically working, just pretending to work — when Bucky’s phone vibrates. He can see the conflict on Bucky’s face before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and takes a look.

“Fuck,” he says, the blood draining from his face, then looks up at Steve with wide eyes. “Alex is on his way up.”

“What?” Steve asks.

“Hide under the desk,” Bucky says.

“No, I’m—“

“Please,” Bucky begs before scrambling up to his feet. “I don’t want him to take this out on you,” he adds before leaving the room.

Hating himself a little, Steve grabs their to-go boxes and plastic cutlery to hide them, then crawls under the fucking desk, contorting himself to fit while trying his best to listen to what’s happening outside the door.

“Hi Alex,” Bucky says.

“Why on earth are you still here?” Pierce asks.

“I’m finishing up…” There’s a thunk. “Alex, this is work,” Bucky says a moment later, voice rough.

“Are you working, James?”

“Yes, I’m—“

“Shut up,” Pierce says, then says something else that Steve can’t make out, his voice a snake’s hiss. “Have I made myself clear?” Pierce asks at the end. Bucky’s silent before there’s another thump. “I asked,  _ have I made myself clear _ ?” he repeats.

“Yes,” Bucky says as Steve’s hand curls into a fist.

“I’ll see you then,” Pierce says.

There are footsteps, the ding of the elevator, then quiet. Eventually, Bucky comes back through the door, shuts it softly behind him. As Steve untangles himself and gets himself out of the desk, Bucky walks back to the corner of his office where they sat just minutes before, sits down, and curls in around himself. He doesn’t look at Steve. He doesn’t say a word. “Bucky?” Steve asks, quiet.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, voice cracking.

“You don’t seem fine,” Steve says. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, trying very hard to keep his voice light.

Steve crosses the room and sits down next to him. Telegraphing his movements and going slow, he puts his arm over Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him in close. He’s stiff, but the tension in his shoulders softens, just a little. “What happened?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice gentle, even though every part of him is nearly shaking with rage.

“Oh, Alex just wanted me to know that he’d be going out of town for a few days.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m obviously bereft that he’s leaving,” Bucky bites out and Steve snorts a laugh. He presses his face to the side of Bucky’s head but Bucky shies away. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve says, trying again to keep the fierceness out of his voice. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything.”

They sit like that for a few minutes, both of them focusing on just breathing but for very different reasons. The sun starts to set, the office glowing orange, then left in the cold fluorescent light. “I should go,” Bucky says, eventually.

“We don’t have to,” Steve says.

Bucky looks up at him for the first time in ages, his smile heartbreaking. “This place isn’t safe anymore.”

And Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that; Bucky seems to take his silence as a response in of itself. He unfolds himself and stands up, starts gathering his things. Steve stands up, feeling helpless as he watches Bucky efficiently pack up his life into his briefcase.

Not knowing what to say or how to stop him, they head into the elevator. Steve just watches Bucky stare at the wall of buttons as the elevator door closes. 

And then he clears his throat.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“Yeah?” His voice is still so rough. There’s the beginnings of a purpling bruise on the side of Bucky’s chin and Steve can’t help but think of the thunk he heard while Bucky and Pierce spoke out in the hallway.

It’s with that in mind that Steve takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and asks, “Does Alex hurt you?”

The elevator buzzes, though hasn’t started moving. Bucky’s hand hesitates before pressing the L button on the panel, then falls to his side as the elevator clunks and begins to move. He does not say anything; he does not look at Steve.

“You can tell me; it’s okay,” Steve says, feeling the desperation creeping into his voice. If he knows, if he just  _ knows _ , he can do something about it. They can start making plans. He’s felt suspended for months in this place between speculation and proof and he’s sure that if Bucky tells him, they can start finding a way forward.

All he has to do is tell him.

And then Bucky does.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, still staring at the buttons pad, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, he… Sometimes. More often, lately. He’s been stressed,” he says, voice sounding oddly detached, like he’s talking about what he and Alex did last weekend. “It’s… it’s just been worse lately, that’s all.”

For Steve, it’s like getting kicked in the gut. 

Steve takes a tentative step forward, towards Bucky. “Out in the hallway…”

“Yeah, bonked my head against the wall a couple times, it’s…” Bucky exhales, shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve says, some of the fierceness slipping out. Bucky shuts his eyes tight, face slipping into a grimace. “Bucky, that’s not okay,” he adds, softening his voice, pleading with him.

Bucky opens his eyes again, looks up at the top of the elevator doors where a small electric ticker shows them which floor they’re on.  _ 32, 31, 30 _ . “It’s just…” Bucky starts, eyes darting over to Steve, then back. “I know that you, I mean, I do, but you...” He trails off.

“My feelings have nothing to do with this,” Steve says, getting the gist of what Bucky was getting at without him needing to articulate it fully. He keeps his voice low but quick as he says, “You deserve to feel safe at home, at work, everywhere, Buck. You deserve not to hurt and be hurt. Bucky, you…” He breathes out, takes a moment to collect himself and figure out what he’s going to say next. “You shouldn’t have to live a life of fear. You should be happy.” He pauses. “I don’t need to be in love with you to tell you that.”

“I…” Bucky says, then shuts his eyes. The elevator zooms downwards.  _ 18, 17, 16 _ . “It’s complicated,” he says, voice small.

“That’s fine. Most things are. But the fact of the matter is that you still deserve—“

“It’s… Who gets to say who deserves what?” he interrupts.

Unable to take it anymore, Steve crosses the small space until he’s next to Bucky. “You deserve better,” he says, his voice steady, eyes locked with Bucky’s. “That much I know.”

The elevator door opens with a ding but Steve doesn’t move, neither does Bucky. They look at one another, just looking, just breathing. And then Bucky reaches out and presses a random number on the elevator panel. The doors close back up and the elevator lurches upward as Bucky closes the space between them and kisses Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> The mail. Édouard Manet. Nothing.  
“The Plaza sucks.”
> 
> Posting January 15th.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mail. Édouard Manet. Nothing.
> 
> “The Plaza sucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anisstaranise made a beautiful edit for this fic on Tumblr! [Check it out here](https://anisstaranise.tumblr.com/post/190157935290/and-he-does-again-and-again-and-again-chapter-4)!

It’s just a quick press of Bucky’s lips to Steve, soft and gone too soon, Steve’s mouth trying to chase Bucky’s lips even as Bucky pulls away. They’re left looking at each other with wide eyes, each unsure of what to do, where they go from here. But before they can waste more time, before the elevator door can open again, Steve closes the space between them and kisses him again.

Bucky grabs the front of Steve’s shirt to pull him in close, flush up against him, pressing Bucky into the elevator wall. Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s hip and holds him tight, needing an anchor as they fly stories high through the New York night in a state-of-the-art elevator, probably monitored, signing their own death warrants with a press of the lips to the seal.

Bucky kisses like this is his last kiss. He kisses like he wants it to be.

And Bucky, God, Bucky, his lips are soft and plush, and he knows what to do with them. It’s Bucky who deepens the kiss, hand fisted in Steve’s shirt, it’s Bucky who licks into Steve’s lips without even the slightest of hesitation, it’s Bucky who leaves Steve feeling raw and wanting, struggling to keep up.

Steve tries his best to match Bucky’s intensity, to let him know all of the things that he’s been holding inside of himself these past few months in silent communication: 

_ I love you. _

_ Let me take care of you. _

_ Come home with me, please. _

And then the elevator dings, having apparently reached whichever floor Bucky directed it to and, startled, they jump apart. Steve just looks at Bucky — lips red, hair mussed — and smiles. “Come home with me,” he says, trying to project an air of confidence that he doesn’t necessarily feel, not when the moment seems so tender, not when Steve is so terrified that he’ll scare Bucky away now that they’ve taken this step past the point of no return together. But it’s because they’ve reached this point that Steve can say it now, out loud.

“Steve.”

“Just to talk,” Steve says, reaching out for Bucky’s hand. Bucky takes it, laces their fingers together. “Please.”

Bucky hesitates for a moment, then takes a step closer to Steve. “Okay,” he says, his breath ghosting against Steve’s lips, hand squeezing Steve’s.

“Okay,” Steve repeats as Bucky leans in again to kiss him because he can now. He can.

— —

They pull apart just before the door opens up to the lobby, then walk out of the building, Steve trailing behind Bucky. “I take the subway,” he says once they’re outside, so they walk to the station together in silence, Steve ahead of Bucky now because it doesn’t seem like Bucky even knows where the station is. They wait for the train in silence. And they board the train together in silence, too.

It’s past rush hour but the train car is still crowded with a mix of tired folks working late, tourists, and college students. There are a few seats open, but nothing together, so Steve leads them to some open space towards the end of the car to stand. When the familiar overhead voice tells them to stay clear of the closing doors, Bucky presses up against him, slides his hand down Steve’s arm until his hand is in his. “Hi,” Bucky says, voice barely audible over the chatting teenagers and clatter of the subway car as it starts careening its way through the underbelly of the city.

“Hi,” Steve repeats, unable to keep the sweet smile off of his lips.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Bucky says with a soft chuckle. Even surrounded by people, it feels like they’re alone. That’s one of the nice things about the subway: no one gives a shit what you do as long as you’re not actively shitting. Makes for a nice getaway from the watchful eyes of the Manhattan elite, constantly assessing and judging.

“You’re coming home with me,” Steve says. “So we can talk.”

“I know,” Bucky says, smiling back at Steve and shrugging. “But I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says before they spend the rest of the ride in quiet, hand-in-hand, just looking at one another.

— —

“I need my hand back,” Steve says when they reach the front door of his building. Bucky looks up at the plain brick facade, then at Steve. 

“You live here?” he asks, dropping Steve’s hand and slipping his own into the pocket of his coat.

“Yeah.” As he pulls his keys out from his coat pocket, he looks at the chipping red paint of his building’s door, really notices it for the first time. It’s truly the worst house in the best neighborhood, but that’s never bothered Steve all that much. But for Bucky, who lives in an Upper East Side penthouse, a studio apartment without a working microwave probably seems pretty quaint if not outright disappointing.

Before unlocking the door, he glances at Bucky, who nods at him. “I grew up just on the other side of the park,” he says, gesturing in the vague direction of Prospect Park. “My ma’s still over there.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, looking back at the door.

“But all the cool kids live in Park Slope now, right?” he asks as Steve fiddles with the lock. It can get finicky as it gets colder, but he manages to get it done and open the door. 

Steve chuckles, holding the door open for Bucky so he can get in and out of the cold. “Depends on your definition of cool,” he says as they enter the vestibule. He ignores his mailbox to open the security door, but Bucky stops to look.

“Don’t you wanna check?” he asks, grabbing the back of Steve’s shirt to stop him.

“I’m a little distracted,” Steve admits.

“We have someone who brings us our mail,” Bucky says, hesitating by the boxes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to open up a mailbox, see what’s inside.” He pauses. “All the possibilities.”

Steve turns around to look at Bucky, who smiles at him sheepishly. Steve can’t help but smile back. “You wanna grab my mail, Buck?” he asks.

“If you insist,” Bucky says, holding out his hand for Steve’s mail key and wiggling his fingers like a greedy toddler asking for a marshmallow. Steve flips through his keyring until he comes across the little brass key, which he hands to Bucky. 

“It’s the one with Rogers on it,” Steve directs needlessly.

“I’m rich, not stupid,” Bucky says, grinning as he opens up the little metal box. There’s nothing exciting inside, just a letter reminding Steve to renew his membership to the MoMA and a flier from the local Pizza Hut. “Coupons,” Bucky says, inspecting it.

“You want a pizza, Buck?” 

“We just had dinner,” he says. “But it’s also been a long time since I’ve gotten shitty pizza.” He bites down on his bottom lip and smiles at Steve.

And it strikes Steve just how… normal this is. While all of this should feel monumental, and it does, it’s also just two people coming home. It makes Steve want to pull Bucky to his chest and just hold him, to tell him they can get all of the shitty pizza they want if he doesn’t leave.

But he doesn’t. Instead he smiles, says, “We’ll see” and takes the keyring back from Bucky. He opens the security door, then walks down the hall towards his apartment. If he’d known this morning that he’d be bringing Bucky back to his place tonight, he probably would’ve cleaned it up, or at least gone around the place with a duster and put the dirty dishes in the washer. Too late for regrets there, he thinks as he opens up the door.

While Bucky seemed more than happy to look at Steve’s mail, he hesitates in his doorway. “You can come in,” Steve says once he’s a few steps inside and unbuttoning his coat.

Bucky takes a breath, then steps inside. “Shoes on or off?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says. Bucky nods, then toes off his shoes, leaving them next to the door. Even his socks look luxurious, soft and expensive. He must catch Steve looking at his toes, so he wiggles them, and Steve bites back a laugh. “I can take your coat,” he says, looking up at Bucky as he brings his own to the small coat closet near the door and hangs it up.

“Sure,” Bucky says, unbuttoning his black peacoat. Honestly, Steve’s not sure if it’s the same black peacoat that he wore to the tapas restaurant back in April, but it wouldn’t surprise him if it wasn’t. It doesn’t seem like Bucky wears a lot of clothes from last season.

It would make sense that Pierce would outfit Bucky in the finest. His job is to look pretty, after all. He closes the closet door with a little more force than strictly necessary.

When their coats are hung, Steve walks into the kitchen and pours them each a glass of water from his Brita pitcher as Bucky settles on the couch. It’s quiet in the apartment, the radiator a faint buzz in the background, until Bucky sighs. Steve turns around with the water; Bucky is sitting on the couch, head in his hands, that same look of distress that Steve so frequently finds him in.

“How are you doing?” Steve asks as he walks across the room with their drinks.

“I’m cheating on my husband,” Bucky says, voice cracking. 

Steve sits down next to him, sets the glasses down on the coffee table in front of the couch. He reaches out and puts a hand on Bucky’s back. “I’m not sure if it counts, the way that Alex has treated—”

“Don’t,” Bucky interrupts, sharp, turning his head towards Steve. “I know you mean well,” he continues, his voice gentler. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m married.” He pauses, exhales. When he speaks again, his voice cracks. “I’m married.”

“I know,” Steve says, pulling his arm back so he can get his water. He takes a sip, keeping an eye on Bucky, still slumped down, fingers in his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.

“For what?”

“Freaking out.”

“You don’t have to be.” He doesn’t say that he understands because he doesn’t. He doesn’t know how Bucky could still be loyal to someone who does the things that Pierce does to him. “What do you need me to say?” he asks, setting his glass down again. 

Bucky exhales. “I don’t know. I’d been doing such a good job of keeping things in control. I’ve been working so hard to keep things in control for so long, and then…” His voice cracks. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who is in love with someone who isn’t my husband. And I know that my husband doesn’t treat me well, I  _ know _ , I’m not stupid, but that doesn’t make what I’m doing okay. I made promises.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. “It’s okay to—”

“It’s really not,” Bucky says. He drops his arms, shakes his head. “You don’t know what it’s been like, trying to keep myself from doing something stupid. It was all doable, living this life was doable, until you spilled your stupid coffee on me.”

“Is this stupid?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks at him and smiles. “Of course it is.” Exhaling, his eyes dart down to Steve’s lips for a second, then back to Steve’s eyes. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do it.” He blinks, swallows. “If you haven’t changed your mind, that is.”

“I haven’t,” Steve responds, probably too quickly. “I want this.”

Something almost sad sets into Bucky’s features as he scoots closer to Steve on the couch, their thighs touching. “You shouldn’t. You deserve—“

“To be with someone who I care about and who cares about me,” Steve interrupts. “And I think those both apply here.” He puts a hand down on Bucky’s knee, starts rubbing circles with his thumb.

“If I cared about you the way I should, then I wouldn’t lead you towards this,” Bucky says, easing into Steve’s side. “It’s career suicide, for starters.”

“Don’t try to talk me out of this Buck,” Steve says, giving his knee a squeeze. “I’m a grown up and can make my own decisions. If I knew you were happy and healthy and thriving, we wouldn’t be here. But you deserve some happiness, Buck. I think I do, too.”

Bucky closes the space between them, but it’s Steve who leans in for another kiss, slow and lingering. He moves his hand from Bucky’s knee up to the side of Bucky’s face, finally feeling those curls underneath his fingertips. “I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says when he pulls just a breath away. “I’m staying right here.”

Bucky looks at him for a moment, then slings himself over Steve’s lap, wrapping his legs around him. He takes Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him hard. Steve moves his hands down to Bucky’s hips and squeezes; Bucky’s breath hitches and he pulls back, panting softly, then leans forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “You know I can’t leave him,” he says, voice soft.

The words feel like a dagger in Steve’s chest, but not for the reasons Bucky’s thinking of. “Are you still thinking about him?” Steve asks, hating the devastation in his voice, but feeling so useless. Can’t he distract him, even if it’s just for a few precious minutes?

“How can I not?” Bucky asks, and Steve hates the devastation in Bucky’s voice, too.

“I can help you forget. Please let me help you forget,” he says, reaching for the buttons of Bucky’s shirt.

“Steve,” Bucky says and Steve stops immediately, dropping his hands. “I need you to hear me.” He pulls his forehead away, then takes Steve’s head in his hands again. Bucky’s eyes look so blue up this close. “I’m not going to leave him. I  _ can’t _ .”

It’s not some sort of brutal truth. In the back of his mind, Steve’s known this the whole time, that it will be a long, hard road for the two of them, and that it will take more than a few kisses to convince Bucky to leave his husband. Still, he looks into Bucky’s eyes and he doesn’t care; at least, not right now. “I know,” he says simply. “But we can have this.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly at the phrase, the same sad words Bucky said to him as they danced at the engagement party. “Steve,” he says and, almost like he can’t help it, he goes back in for another kiss.

— —

A few minutes later, Bucky pulls back. “Can we take this to your bed?” he asks, eyes dark and hungry, lips red and smirking. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, nodding eagerly. Bucky unfolds himself from Steve lap, then holds out a hand to help Steve up from the couch. Steve takes Bucky’s hand and keeps it in his as he guides him the short walk to his bed.

He knows his apartment isn’t much. The pieces of art on the walls weren’t bought at Christie’s. His couch came from Craigslist Curbside and the plates and pans that fill his cabinets are a mishmosh from what his mother left behind after she passed away and what he could pick up at Goodwill to fill in the gaps. But it’s his space, a little corner of the world curated to his own simple comfort — everything he needs, and nothing he doesn’t.

His bed is probably the nicest thing he owns — minus, maybe, the five Ralph Lauren button downs hanging in his closet. Six months after going full time at ShieldDesign, he’d said fuck it and bought his dream bed, practically draining his bank account to do it. It’s still probably nothing compared to whatever memory foam monstrosity Bucky has in his penthouse, but he loves his bed, its cream-colored sheets, and soft red comforter. 

And as Bucky sits down on said comforter, Steve feels a surge of gladness for his past self, the person who decided to splurge on one thing to make his life a little better. 

Bucky rubs his hand against the comforter and smiles. “This is nice,” he says.

“Not the Plaza.”

“The Plaza sucks,” Bucky says, beckoning Steve down to him. Steve sits on the edge of the bed next to him as Bucky reaches up and runs his hand through Steve’s hair. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now,” he says, pulling Steve in and kissing him.

They’re lost in each other for a little while longer, but it’s not long before Bucky pulls away but reaches forward for the buttons of Steve’s shirt. Fingers on the top button, he pauses. “You want this, right?” he asks.

“Of course,” Steve says, and that’s all Bucky needed to hear before he makes quick work of Steve’s shirt. While he took care with Steve’s shirt, he’s cavalier with his own, scrambling to pull it over his head, one of the seams ripping with a zip. “There’s no rush,” Steve says, laughing, as Bucky drops his shirt onto the floor with a little flourish.

“I’ve waited long enough,” Bucky says, crawling back onto Steve and pressing him down to the mattress, kissing his neck, then biting down with the tips of his teeth. Steve’s breath hitches at the feeling of Bucky’s teeth on his neck tendon, knowing he’s bitten just hard enough that it will leave a gentle purple bruise, light enough to be gone in a day. 

When he’s done marking him, Bucky pulls back, looks Steve up and down.

“What?” Steve asks.

“You’re really beautiful,” Bucky says. Never one to take a compliment, Steve feels his cheeks get a little hot.

“I’m happy,” Steve says, throat feeling thick. “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy,” Bucky responds, smiling. “You have no idea how happy I am.” He glances down at Steve, at the burgeoning erection making a tent in his pants. Bucky reaches down and gives it a gentle stroke; Steve shudders under his touch. “What do you like?”

“I’m easy,” Steve says. Somehow he’d expected to be in charge of all of this, that he’d be the one coaxing Bucky, trying to make him feel good, but it seems like finally making the decision to do this has flipped a switch in Bucky. He’s loose and smirking as he leans back in, spreads his hands over Steve’s chest, and  _ squeezes _ .

Steve feels like he could come from that alone, but then Bucky presses his head to Steve’s pecs, licking a stripe between them, soft hair ticklish as it brushes against his skin. “Jesus,” Steve says, head thrown back, as Bucky laves one of his nipples with his tongue, reaching out and massaging Steve’s other pec with his hand.

And then Bucky’s head pops up. “Can I ride you?” he asks.

“Yes,” Steve says, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Bucky’s ass before giving it a squeeze. “God, yes.”

Bucky rolls off of Steve and onto the bed, and Steve reaches over to undo the button of his pants. “What brand?” Steve asks as he gets the unhooks the button.

“Armani,” Bucky says as Steve slowly rolls the zipper down, revealing a pair of tight white boxer briefs that leave very little to the imagination. Steve leans in and ghosts his lips over Bucky’s clothed erection. Bucky lifts up his pelvis, ostensibly to help Steve get his pants off, but mostly to mash his dick to Steve’s mouth. Steve looks up and raises an eyebrow; Bucky grins at him. “I look good in Italian, don’t I?” he asks.

“You look good in everything,” Steve says, pulling Bucky’s pants off of him, and dropping them in a pile on the floor. They can afford the dry cleaning bill. 

“But I look best in nothing,” Bucky says, finger hooked into the waistband of his underwear. 

“Hold on,” Steve says, kneeling next to Bucky and putting a hand on his to keep Bucky from slipping off his boxer briefs. “Let me take a look.” He keeps his voice light, but he really does take a good look at the man under him.

It’s ironic that Bucky would call Steve beautiful when he looks like he’s just escaped from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Against the crimson comforter, he doesn’t look like a man who spends his day in an office, but the subject of an intimate candle-lit portrait by Jacques-Louis David or Édouard Manet, the kind of painting that would cause a stir at the Academy but draw viewers’ eyes to it for generations.

Steve catalogues the way Bucky looks right now into his memory, seeing the red star tattoo on his left bicep for the second time, and taking in the dark purple bruise just below his rib cage, the fresh one on his chin. He wants to remember every inch of Bucky as he is right now.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Getting an eyeful?”

“Just seeing what I have to work with.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice nonchalant. “I work out.”

Steve snorts and leans down to kiss Bucky. Bucky bites down on his lip and Steve pulls back, rolling his eyes, before giving in and finally pulling Bucky’s briefs off, flinging them off of the bed. He looks down at Bucky, laid out for him, dick rising out of a thatch of dark hair. Steve leans down and presses a kiss to the tip, hears Bucky groan.

As he licks a stripe down the side, Bucky says, “Don’t think I don’t remember that you still have your goddamn pants on.”

“You want ‘em off?” Steve asks.

“Duh.” Steve laughs, then pulls himself up so Bucky can watch him undo the button of his slacks, push them down over the curve of his ass. Bucky starts humming an old-fashioned strip tease song. Even as he was trying to make things sexy, Steve snorts. “Take ‘em off!” Bucky calls like a drunk bridesmaid at a bachelorette party.

“ _ Buck _ ,” Steve complains, but does just that. When his pants are off and on the floor next to Bucky’s, he plops back down onto the bed, ass first, next to Bucky. “Happy now?” he asks.

“Completely,” Bucky says, looking down at Steve’s dick. “Looks like you are, too.”

“But you already knew that.”

“Had an inclination. Gonna get this show on the road?” Bucky asks.

“Night stand’s on your side of the bed, Buck.” Bucky rolls his eyes but rifles through the drawer, tossing a bottle of lube and a few condoms onto the bed. 

Steve grabs the lube, then pulls Bucky into another kiss. By all standards, it’s not a great kiss, but it’s the best one Steve’s ever had because Bucky can’t stop smiling underneath his lips.

“Let’s do it,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips. Steve feels his dick twitch against Bucky’s thigh. “Get me ready and let’s do it.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told a third time. He lays Bucky out, a pillow beneath his hips, then grabs the bottle of lube, coating his fingers. “Let me know how it’s going,” Steve says, pushing his index finger inside Bucky. Bucky takes a deep breath, eyes falling shut.

“Good, God, Steve,” he says, breathy as Steve tries a few different angles, searching for Bucky’s prostate. “More?” he asks after a minute and Steve adds another finger. Then, Bucky gasps. “Oh God,” Bucky says, voice hoarse. “There, that’s…” Steve presses up against his prostate again but Bucky says, “No wait... with you inside me.” He already sounds wrecked. Then again, Steve isn’t faring much better, halfway there just from looking, from feeling.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, then adds a third finger. 

“Yes,” Bucky says, eyes shutting again. 

He preps Bucky for as long as both of them can bear. Finally, when he’s ready, Bucky pulls himself off of Steve’s slick fingers, then pushes Steve down onto the bed. Bucky grabs one of the condoms from the side of the bed, opens the package, and rolls it onto Steve’s dick. Once it’s on, he sinks down, a small breath escaping his lips. Steve bends his knees and when he lifts his pelvis, Bucky groans. “That good?” Steve asks.

“Mmmhmm,” Bucky hums, then starts to move up and down. He seems a little unsure at first, maybe a little shaky. Steve puts a hand on his thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Sorry,” Bucky says, voice cracking. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky hesitating, looking down at him.

“You don’t need to be,” Steve says, stroking Bucky’s thigh. “Need to call it quits?”

“No,” Bucky says. “I just…” His voice cracks. “Is this good enough?”

“It’s perfect,” Steve says. “I’m having fun. Are you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says.

“Then this is perfect. Take your time, I’ve got all night,” Steve says, smiling. Bucky blinks, then leans down and kisses him, soft, a brush of his lips. “I love you,” Steve says, as he pulls away.

“I love you, too,” Bucky responds before taking a breath and starting again.

The mood between them changes. While they were laughing, messing around before, they grow quiet, the air between them hot. Steve feels a thin sheen of sweat on his skin as he slides in and out of Bucky, angling his hips so that he hits Bucky’s spot each time. Bucky breathes hard, moving a hand down to Steve’s abdomen, fingers gripping hard. 

Steve feels his orgasm building in himself, greater with each thrust of his hips, each connection with Bucky. “I’m gonna,” Steve says, a drop of sweat falling down his brow.

“Yeah, Steve, come for me,” Bucky says and Steve does, hips jerking and eyes shutting. 

On top of him, Bucky strokes himself until he’s coming, too, jizz spewing onto his belly and dripping down onto Steve.

And then it’s over, Bucky slipping off of Steve and falling next to him onto the bed.

When Steve catches his breath, he rolls onto his side, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s chest. He presses a kiss to his collarbone. When he looks up, he sees a tear trickle down the side of Bucky’s eye. “Buck?” he asks, voice soft.

“Sorry,” Bucky says.

He reaches up and wipes off the tear. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I’m ruining it,” Bucky says, voice catching. “I know that I’m ruining it.”

“You’re not ruining a thing.” The heat kicks on, a clank and buzz that emphasizes just how quiet the room was. He strokes his fingers across Bucky’s collarbone, takes a breath. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay? Then we can talk.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice cracking. 

Feeling better now that he has a task, Steve leaves the bed and goes to the bathroom. He wipes himself off, then wets a towel with warm water and goes back goes back to the bed, where Bucky’s sitting up now, curled in on himself. Steve crosses to his side of the bed and holds out the towel. “You want me to, or…”

Bucky looks up at him, tears in his long lashes. “Sorry, I…” He trails off.

“You don’t need to be, it’s all okay,” Steve says. He guides Bucky back, opens him up so that Steve can wipe him down, then press a kiss to his forehead. “Stay here,” he says, before rinsing the towel off and going to his closet. He grabs his most comfortable pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt for Bucky, then something similar for himself to change into. He hands the clothes to Bucky, who puts them on without a word.

When they’re dressed, Steve crawls back into bed. Bucky tucks himself into his side. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, now that they’re safe and warm in each other’s arms.

“That’s the first time I’ve had fun in bed since I turned twenty-two,” Bucky says, voice thick. “That’s the first time I’ve been myself since…” He trails off, and sighs. “A lot,” Bucky says, finally. He wraps his arm across Steve’s torso and holds him. “I’m feeling a lot.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says.

“I need you to know that I’m happy. I’m happy to be with you here. But that doesn’t mean that this whole situation is okay.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, moving a hand to Bucky’s hair. He pulls his fingers through, lets them linger in one of Bucky’s gentle curls.

He wants to tell Bucky that things will be okay. He wants to tell Bucky that all of this will work out. He wants to tell Bucky that he loves him, that they should be together forever, that they should run away and find a way to live their lives outside of the dark hole that is Bucky’s marriage.

But he knows he can’t.

There’s no playbook for how this is going to go.

Despite that, Steve wants to wade into this uncharted territory. 

He’s known love before, but never like this. When he loved Peggy, he loved her in stillness. The only constant throughout their tumultuous relationship was change. By the end, it felt like the only way to keep loving her was moment-by-moment, to take themselves out of their dynamic lives and force them into a scene where they could still be together, two people slow dancing to the same songs they did at their prom, eight years before. It was love but it was also forced desperation, a nostalgia for the couple they were and who they could have been had they grown up into different people.

Loving Bucky feels different. It’s a small flame in the center of his chest that he’s tried to extinguish, but can’t. Every moment they’re together kindles it, the flame burning brighter, bringing everything Steve does into remarkable light and clarity. The world shines brighter because of Bucky and what Steve feels for him. Even if they still only have pockets of time together, Steve carries those moments into the rest of his life.

He wants to burn bright for Bucky in the same way.

Even if he can’t have what he thought he wanted, he wants Bucky. And he’ll take him any way he can have him, even if it’s selfish. But looking at the way that Bucky’s looking at him now, blue eyes wide and full of longing, he doesn’t think he’s alone in this, as difficult as it is.

“Will you sleep here?” Steve asks, brushing his fingers through Bucky’s hair again.

“If you stay here with me.”

“I will.”

“Then yeah,” Bucky says, settling in closer and shutting his eyes. “I could go to sleep.”

And even with the flurry of anxiety inside of Steve’s brain, feeling Bucky’s even breaths at his side help him fall asleep, too.

— —

Saturday goes by quickly. They sleep in, despite going to bed early, and spend a lazy morning eating french toast in bed, exchanging sugary maple syrup kisses and watching old sitcoms on TV. They start, then quickly abandon, a puzzle, and spend the afternoon on top of each other as they talk about everything and nothing, and never mentioning the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. And that evening, Steve opens his lips and takes Bucky inside, Bucky filling his mouth and fucking his throat, Steve loving every moment of it.

As Bucky falls asleep in his arms for a second night, Steve traces the spots on his arms like constellations until his eyes get heavy and he drifts away, too.

— —

“What do we do now?” Steve asks Sunday morning. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, a single beam of light that hits the side of Bucky’s face. Steve’s hand follows it, tips of his fingers trailing the light from Bucky’s temple, down to the cleft of his chin. He’s sleep soft and the world feels quiet. Even though he hasn’t looked out the window, Steve can sense that snow fell last night, the first real snowfall of winter. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. He snuggles in closer to Steve and out of the light. “Like you said, there’s no guidebook for this.”

Steve presses a kiss to his forehead, takes a breath. “I guess not. You could write one. I bet it would be a bestseller.”

Bucky huffs out a small laugh and shakes his head before he goes still, quiet. “I’d understand if you don’t want to do this. If you wanted to keep it to this weekend,” he tells Steve in a small voice.

“I do want to do this.” He tries to keep his frustration out of his voice because it’s not fair to Bucky, it’s really not, that he’s feeling frustrated in the first place. Steve knows what he’s getting into. He pauses, trying to come up with the right words before he speaks. “I want to move forward in a way that will keep you safe.”

“I don’t think there’s any safe way forward. There’s just a path where I could be happier.” He presses his face to Steve’s chest. “I wanna take that path.”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Steve says. “We’ll figure it out,” he repeats softer as Bucky reaches down, takes Steve’s cock in his hand, and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Butter. Cardstock. Mario Kart.  
“I’m not spending Christmas in a bathroom.”
> 
> Posting January 22.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butter. Cardstock. Mario Kart.
> 
> “I’m not spending Christmas in a bathroom.”

Steve’s nibbling his leftovers from lunch and half-heartedly testing out some new typography for a webpage when Jasper Sitwell stands in his doorway and clears his throat. Struggling to swallow quickly enough to say something without choking, Steve waves, then puts his hand in front of his mouth as he says, “Hey Jasper, what can I do for you?”

“Team dinner tonight,” Sitwell says, looking a little irritated. “Apparently his majesty’s husband’s flight is delayed, so Barnes thought a last minute team-building exercise is in order.”

“I’m not quite following,” Steve says.

“Keep up,” Sitwell orders; Steve rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t matter since Sitwell’s too busy snooping around his office, inspecting his degrees and knicknacks, to pay much attention. “Tonight: you, me, Barnes, and Sharon Carter from ad sales. We’re going to some steakhouse a few blocks away, I’ll email you the details after I let Maximov know.”

“Thanks,” Steve says.

Sitwell gives him one last look, shakes his head just a little, then turns out of the office and walks away.

When Sitwell’s out of sight, Steve picks up his iPhone. “Sending JS to do your dirty work?” he sends Bucky over Whatsapp.

A minute later, Steve’s work phone rings. He picks up; it’s Bucky. “I’ll have you know that this was not my idea,” he says.

“Who’s was it?” Steve asks, leaning back in his office chair. He feels lighter just hearing Bucky’s voice.

“Jasper’s. We were in a meeting and someone asked how Alex liked his trip. I told them that he liked it, but his flight was cancelled because of the weather. It took Jasper about two seconds to invite me to dinner. Sharon offered herself up to save me from dinner alone. She’s my favorite Insight employee now.”

“Is she now?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow even though there’s no one there to see it.

Bucky chuckles. “Maybe not, but she’s definitely up there.”

“So how did Wanda and I end up in the mix?” Steve asks.

There’s a momentary pause. “I may have thrown some names around.” Steve laughs. “If I have to go to dinner with any coworker, I’d rather it be you,” Bucky says. “You can hardly blame me for that.”

“Think we’re a bit past dinner,” Steve says, voice low. His office door is still open a crack from where Sitwell left it, but he doubts anyone is listening in. Still, it feels risky to talk like this in the office, even if no one knows who is on the other end of the line.

Bucky chuckles; it’s a low sound. “It’s not like I can… if we were…” He trails off.

“Yeah,” Steve says, then exhales. “Thanks for thinking of me. And for paying.”

Bucky laugh agains, a brighter sound. “Yeah, now problem. See you tonight.”

“See you,” Steve says before hanging up the phone, an unsaid _ I love you _ still on his lips.

He’s relieved, frankly, that nothing seems to have changed between the two of them, despite everything changing between the two of them. He’d played a hundred different scenarios out in his head this morning as he got ready for work, thinking of all the ways that Bucky could just pretend that nothing happened between them, or worse. As he hadn’t heard from Bucky throughout the day — because of his meetings, which Steve knew would happen — his anxiety had ratcheted up.

And now, thanks to Jasper Sitwell, he’d be seeing Bucky tonight. He can’t wait.

— —

“If I were still an hourly employee, I would be paid for this,” Wanda mutters as they stand outside of Butter a few hours later. She’s bundled up, the temperature having dropped low this morning. There wasn’t much snow accumulation from yesterday, but what’s left of it sits as blackish-brown sludge on the curbside.

“Most people are pretty excited about this place,” Steve says.

“It was on an episode of _ Gossip Girl _,” Wanda responds without further comment. Steve can’t tell if it’s a good thing or damning. “Besides, if our superiors really wanted to do something nice for us, they would give us the week off, not take us to some high-price dinner we don’t want to have.”

“Agreed,” Steve says, though he can’t say he’s looking forward to Thanksgiving this year. He’s spending the year at Sam’s mom’s place, which he’s done every year since his mother passed away while he was in college. And while it’s always full of laughter and fun, there’s something lonely about it, the only person there without someone else to sit close to when they turn on Rudolph at the end of the night. He’s sure that this year will be worse, knowing that while he’s at least surrounded by people who care for him, Bucky will be stuck with Pierce and his highbrow friends, miserable and lonely in a crowded room. If he could find a way to get Bucky out of there, he would.

But it’s not time yet.

Now that he knows the kind of danger Bucky is in, he knows that he’ll have to tread lightly. He wants to find a way to extricate him from his relationship, but it will take time. Even if Steve has almost no patience, he’ll need to take his time to figure things out.

Steve thought he could hold it down and move on with his life. But he’s never been someone who can walk away from someone in need.

“Wanda, Steve, hi,” Bucky says, approaching. Jasper and a tall, blonde, white woman who Steve assumes is Sharon Carter walk beside him. It’s chilly and Bucky’s back in his black peacoat. In the early evening darkness and black coat, Bucky looks pale, the purple rings under his eyes pronounced. But he lights up when he sees Steve; Steve can’t help but smile back at him, too.

“Hello,” Wanda says, a little icy.

“Should we get inside? I’m freezing,” Bucky says, leading his way to the door. He holds it open for the crowd, Steve trailing behind the rest. 

“Thanks Buck,” he says as he passes through.

Bucky just nods, his eyes on Steve’s. They seem a little hungry and not necessarily for butter.

— —

Dinner is fine. The food is great, though you couldn’t ask Steve what he ordered and get the right answer, he’s so distracted by the whole situation. He’s so focused on Bucky — the way that he guides the table’s conversation, holds court. It seems like such a natural thing, he’s so charming. But now that he knows Bucky better, he can see the cracks in the facade, the hints of insecurity that flick into his eyes as Sitwell makes an offhand comment about his marriage. It’s still that shiny veneer that he puts on for Insight.

When Bucky was out ith Steve’s friends, he was still charming, still the life of the party, but quieter, more subdued. His charm didn’t come from shining the brightest, but burning the warmest. 

It must be exhausting to put on such a show, especially one that can’t involve a single moment of weakness, lest he be pounced on.

He remembers the way Bucky looked, coming into his office after their first meeting.

He also remembers the way Bucky looked on Saturday night, eyes closed but not asleep, satisfied smile on his face.

“Steve?” Sharon asks.

Steve practically jumps. “What?” 

Sharon raises an eyebrow. “Could you pass the salt?” she asks.

“Sure,” Steve says, doing just that. Bucky catches his eye from across the table and raises an eyebrow. “Long day,” Steve mutters with a self-effacing shrug of the shoulders. Gee whiz.

“Sorry for keeping you out later,” Bucky says, the corner of his lip upturned.

“It’s not a problem,” Steve says, keeping eye contact with Bucky.

Steve notices Wanda look between the two of them and he looks back down at his plate, pretending to be very interested in some piece of garnish.

The conversation moves on for a moment, then Bucky’s phone — placed gingerly at the edge of the table — flashes and buzzes, loud ringtone echoing through the restaurant and sending a few dirty looks their way. “Sorry,” Bucky says with a small smile as he picks up the phone and stands up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he adds before answering the call. “Hi Alex,” he says in a smaller voice than the one he was just using.

It makes something in Steve’s gut curdle. 

He waits long enough that it won’t seem like he’s following Bucky to excuse himself from the table to follow Bucky, letting his food get cold.

He stops in the bathroom to wash his hands, then heads out the front door. Bucky is a few feet away, bundled up in his coat, and speaking in a hushed voice. His eyes meet Steve’s and he smiles, just a little. Steve takes as an invitation, crossing the space between them and standing close to Bucky. Bucky steps into Steve’s space, close enough to be intimate but not close enough to arouse much suspicion. Steve aches to wrap an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, but with their coworkers inside, he knows it’s a bad idea. _ It’ll only get harder _, a voice inside his head tells him, but he ignores it, just happy for the time they have together.

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky says to Alex. Then, “I’m sorry.” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Tomorrow,” and then, “I thought we’d spend Friday at…” He’s cut off. “Alright... Alright... Okay. Yes, I’m… I am. I’m sorry. Alright. See you tomorrow.” His eyes flick to Steve’s for a moment then down to the ground before he says, “I love you,” and ends the call. 

“You okay?” Steve asks.

“He’s still pissed,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, he doesn’t know the half of it,” he says, glancing back up at Steve. “But he’s still pissed about the other stuff.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

Bucky shrugs. “It is what it is.” He pauses, looks around them. There are a few people milling about in the area, but nobody is paying attention to the two of them, so it’s not much of a surprise when Bucky leans in and kisses Steve, just a peck on the lips before he pulls away. Steve smiles at him, warmth blooming in his chest like a direct transfer of energy from Bucky’s lips to his own. “You should go back in first.”

“Wish it were just the two of us.”

“Same. But it’s better than nothing.” Steve doesn’t want to go, but Bucky shoos him away with his hand. “C’mon, it’s cold,” he says.

“It’d be warmer if you held my hand,” Steve says, lips curling up into a smirk.

“Such a romantic,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “Everyone in there probably thinks it takes you years to poop.”

“Thanks for that.” 

Bucky laughs, his voice sweet. “Someone had to get your mind off of—”

“You?” 

Bucky turns away, cheeks getting a little red. “Jesus,” he says.

“Nothing really takes my mind off of you,” Steve says, maybe a little too honest. He exhales. “I’ll head back in. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be two minutes.”

“But I’ll miss you,” Steve says.

“I—” Bucky starts, but is interrupted by the phone ringing again. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, then sighs. “See you back inside,” he says before answering again, in that soft, placating tone, “Hey, what’s up?”

Steve just looks, for a moment, at Bucky, his whole posture tense again, shrinking in on himself. And he doesn’t know what to do.

— —

How long can you keep a secret?

Thanksgiving passes by in a blur, Steve checking his phone every eight seconds or so, then getting progressively more disappointed as he doesn’t hear anything from Bucky. He knows his friends can tell he’s checked out, but he’s thankful that they don’t say anything about it. Sam’s mom clucks her tongue a few times when she passes by and sees him glued to his phone screen, but even she doesn’t make a fuss about it.

— —

“You seeing someone?” Thor asks, nudging his side as they wait in line outside of Target later that night. It’s their tradition to meet up on Black Friday for the sales, even when none of them have anything very important to buy; it’s just fun to go out after a day of being cooped up inside. Let’s them all blow off some steam.

“No,” Steve says, too quickly and adamantly as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. It’s almost out of battery, even though he hasn’t done much with it besides check WhatsApp again and again, thinking maybe he must have missed the notification, but nothing’s come in.

“You’ve been on your phone most of the day,” Valkyrie says, eyebrow raised. She, too, was invited to the Wilson’s Thanksgiving festivities, as she’s an orphan like Steve. Thor and his brother Loki spent the holiday with their parents on their mansion outside of the city. They don’t talk much about their family — apparently there’s a whole lot of drama, something about Loki being adopted but never told — but they dutifully head back for holidays.

Steve feels his cheeks go hot. “Just been getting news on the dog show.”

She blinks. “The dog show ended hours ago. Even I can tell you that the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel won.”

“The after stories,” he mutters and that’s when, of course, his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Sorry,” he says, pulling it back out, too eager to hear from Bucky, even if it means more teasing from his friends.

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

You think turkey catered by David Burke would taste good, but.

** _Steve Rogers_ **

That bad?

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful that my Thanksgiving dinner is over.

“Line’s moving,” Loki says, jostling Steve’s side as he moves forward. Steve loses his grip on his phone, which falls out of his hand and onto the concrete, screen cracking with a thunk. “Oops,” he says, not sounding very remorseful. Steve scrambles to pick it back up, but not before two people step on it in the rush to get into the store.

“At least you’ll get a deal on a new one today,” Valkyrie says, eyeing the damage as they’re herded inside the store.

It’s not much of a consolation.

— —

Steve gets a new phone but feels a pang — he hadn’t backed up his conversations with Bucky and they’re all gone, just like that. It’s not that he wants to spend every night tucked into bed and reading over their stilted text conversations from the past summer, but he feels weird to know that an important part of his relationship with Bucky is just gone, slipping through his fingers and cracking on the sidewalk. He hadn’t meant to lose them. He needs to be more careful.

“Could you send them to me?” Steve asks Bucky after explaining the situation, late on Saturday night. It seems like they’re resuming their Saturday night phone calls, much to Steve’s relief, though tonight, their time is short. He only has so long before Alex comes back home from meeting with his friends.

There’s a long pause, so long that Steve says, “Buck?” thinking that the call may have been dropped. 

Bucky clears his throat. “I can’t,” he tells him.

“Yours get deleted, too?”

“I delete them myself,” Bucky says. “Every few days.” Steve’s quiet, needing to figure out what he can say in response, apparently for so long that it’s Bucky’s turn to ask, “Steve?” in a soft voice that isn’t asking whether Steve’s there or not, but whether Steve is angry or not. It hurts Steve to hear him use that voice at all, let alone with Steve. He should never have to use that voice with Steve. God, he just keeps fucking things up, without even meaning to.

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, he takes a breath. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just a sap.”

“I know that much,” Bucky responds, though his voice is still so small. 

“You don’t need to—”

“It’s not,” Bucky interrupts, then pauses. “It’s that I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Buck.” He keeps his voice soft even as his heart aches. He knows that it’s not the right time, that there will be a time, that he just needs to be patient. But he just wants to _ help _, find some tangible way to do something for Bucky that would make his life better. “What can I do?” he asks, voice cracking. If he has some kind of task, it would make all of this more manageable. If he were taking tangible steps towards making Bucky’s life easier, he’d feel like he was doing something worth doing.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks.

Steve pauses a moment, tries to collect the thoughts rumbling around his brain. Still, he can’t come up with a better way to say what he means than this, “To help you.”

He can hear Bucky exhale on the other end of the line. “This helps,” he says. “You could come to my office first thing on Monday morning, too. That would help.”

“I can do that,” Steve says. It’s not exactly the kind of step he was hoping for, but it’s something.

It’s something.

“That’ll get me through the rest of this weekend, having that to look forward to.”

Somehow knowing that makes it all feel so much worse.

“I love you,” Steve says.

There’s something on Bucky’s end, the sound of a door opening and a few muffled voices. Bucky says, “Thank you, but I’m not interested” before hanging up the phone.

Steve knows what happened, he does. Pierce must’ve walked in and Bucky needed some cover because he couldn’t be caught on the phone talking to his secret lover.

Still, it stings a little.

A few minutes later, a message from Bucky pops up.

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

I’m sorry. I love you.

Steve texts him something similar back, then lays down, new phone clutched to his chest. He shuts his eyes and tries to be thankful. But mostly, he just thinks about how thankful he’ll be when Bucky can leave Alexander Pierce.

And how he hopes that will be sometime very soon.

— —

Soon doesn’t happen soon enough.

— —

Insight shuts down for the holidays, a two week break spanning from Christmas to New Years that is highly appreciated by the staff, their families, and friends. It’s one of the reasons that people fight for jobs there, though personally, Steve isn’t sure it makes up for the employee burnout during the rest of the year.

But as Steve traces the line of Bucky’s freshly cut hair with his index finger on the quiet Friday afternoon before the office closes, he hates the practice. They’re standing too close in a bathroom stall on Bucky’s floor. Most of the company bigwigs are already off for the holidays, including Alexander Pierce, who is waiting for Bucky to get on a plane this afternoon so he can join him at their second home near an exclusive ski resort in Park City, Utah.

“I can’t even ski,” Bucky admits as Steve trails kisses from his cheek bone down to his neck. “Every year Alex makes me try and I hurt myself and he just laughs.”

Steve tenses for a moment, then reaches for the buttons of Bucky’s shirt, undoing them one by one until his chest is exposed. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, underneath his shirt, and pulls him in closer. Bucky’s breath hitches for a moment before he settles into Steve and kisses him, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of Steve’s pants. 

It’s Steve who pulls away. “Don’t go,” he says.

Bucky looks from his lips up to Steve’s eyes. “What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t go to Utah. Stay here.”

“I’m not spending Christmas in a bathroom,” Bucky says with a laugh before diving back in, taking charge and pushing Steve’s back to the wall. Ignoring Steve’s shirt, he unbuttons his pants and slips his underwear down to his knees. He smirks, keeping eye contact with Steve as he slides onto the tile in front of Steve.

“I didn’t mean in the bathroom,” Steve says, half-breathless as Bucky’s lips wrap around his cock. “I meant with your parents?” he says, voice going a little higher as Bucky slides Steve’s dick down his throat. Bucky looks up at him, eyebrows raised, translating with his eyes that should Steve should stop talking about his parents so long as he has his dick in his mouth, which is probably a valid sentiment but getting the stink eye from someone with a dick in their mouth is still pretty funny. “Well, how about you stay with me?” Steve asks, changing tactics. “I make a good Christmas r_ oast _,” Steve continues, voice going up as Bucky bites gently, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of his cock. “I got it, I got it,” Steve says, leaning back against the wall and shutting his eyes. “Shutting up now.”

Bucky pokes Steve’s thigh, saying, _ That’s not what I meant _. Steve chuckles, but that gets swallowed down as Bucky grabs Steve’s hips and pulls him towards him, shoving Steve’s cock into the back of his throat. Steve groans. He puts his fingers in his mouth and bites down to keep himself from calling out any louder than he already has as he starts to fuck Bucky’s mouth.

He can feel Bucky’s nails digging into his thighs from his tight grip, thinks about the gentle half moons they may leave there when they’re done, which he may be able to look at for at least a few days during their time apart from one another. God, he doesn’t want Bucky to leave. God, he wants Bucky to _ stay _ , and to stay with _ him _, and—

“I’m gonna,” Steve says.

And he does.

Bucky gets up off of his knees when Steve is done, then goes right in and kisses Steve on the mouth before Steve is even done panting. He can taste himself on Bucky’s lips as Bucky takes his own dick into his hand and pumps it until his breath hitches and he comes, too.

And once he’s done, he just kisses Steve again, and again, and again, until Steve is weak in the knees, until all of the thoughts leave his head. He could do this forever, or just stay in this bathroom stall for the entire holiday, trading kisses and blowjobs through Christmas and New Years.

Bucky is good at sex and he enjoys it, they both do. But it’s more than Bucky’s skill in bed that makes it good, it’s the connection they have. Steve hasn’t felt anything like it before.

He wants Bucky to stay.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says, lips hovering just next to Steve’s.

“About what?” Steve asks, because there’s so much to worry about, even if this moment feels perfect.

Bucky smirks. “I won’t forget to send you a Christmas present.”

And Steve’s stomach sinks.

— —

There’s a package on Steve’s doorstep on Christmas Eve and Steve knows it’s from Bucky. Rather than waiting until Christmas morning — he’ll be celebrating with the Wilsons, like he does for most holidays — and having to explain who the gift is from, he brings the box into his apartment and opens it then and there. The unsigned card reads:

_ Merry Christmas. I love you. _

Steve lets his fingers trace over each of the letters, feeling the way the pen indented the heavy cardstock with each stroke. He takes a breath, then takes the card out of the box and carries it over to his desk, setting it down gingerly. Then, he turns around to his bed, lifting the covers up so he can get underneath it and pull out a clear plastic tub. It’s full of miscellaneous knick knacks, the leftover stuff that he couldn’t find a place for in his apartment the last time he moved. He digs through it, ignoring a few gifted Funko Pops from shows he doesn’t watch anymore and notebooks from classes that he couldn’t bear to part with. Eventually, he unearths what he’s looking for: a simple black frame with a photo inside.

Steve takes a minute to look at the photo inside of it — a close up of he and Peggy Carter from their engagement photoshoot, all stilted smiles and awkward eye contact. It was the best photo from the somewhat disastrous shoot and it sat on Steve’s desk for two days before Peggy called everything off. He doesn’t know why he kept the frame or the photo inside, but tonight, he’s glad he did.

Shaking his head, he flips the frame over and pries off the back. He pulls the photo out and holds it for a second; he contemplates just throwing it into the little metal trash can that sits next to his bed, but sets it back down into the cardboard box instead. He then grabs the card off of his desk and sets it in the frame — a perfect fit.

He doesn’t remember that there was anything else in the box until Bucky sends him a message the next day asking if the suit fit and if he liked the watch.

— —

Bucky calls Steve every Saturday. Sometimes the calls last two minutes, short and sweet in the moments he can escape from Pierce’s watchful eyes. Sometimes they’re hours long ordeals, where they talk over each other in excitement, talking about who they are and what they want and where they’ll go. Sometimes it’s in the minutes before Steve falls asleep, a voice in Steve’s ear telling him to go to bed, that they’ll talk tomorrow.

But the first Saturday in February, Bucky does not call.

It doesn’t help that Steve doesn’t have anything to do that night, that he cancelled plans, that he needed to hear Bucky’s voice after a week of barely seeing him.

He starts to panic a little.

He tries calling Bucky, but the phone goes straight to voicemail. He texts, too, but there’s no response, the read receipt still telling him his message has been left unread.

After he looks down at his phone for the nine hundredth time, seeing only messages from Sam, Natasha, and Bruce, he gets on the F train, then the 6. He’s walking past the Neue Galerie when he realizes that he’s acting ridiculous, that he needs to try trusting Bucky, even if he’s living with someone who hurts him.

God, Steve is so scared.

He wakes up scared and he falls asleep scared and he’s scared, right now, as he sits on the steps of some building too expensive for him to even imagine the price of, and he starts to cry.

Steve doesn’t cry much. He’s never liked crying. He was bullied pretty badly as a kid and tears only ever made things worse. Tears got him pity from adults, something he’s never appreciated, and tears only added to the fuel of his bullies’ ire. He learned to stop crying pretty quickly and since turning twenty, he’s only cried a few times, each time he can name: when his mother died, when Sam’s mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, when Sam’s mother was declared cancer free, when Peggy told him that she just didn’t see him in her future, and one night, about a year and a half ago, when the overwhelming weight of his own loneliness fell on him like a suffocating blanket, which he felt like he would never escape from.

But he’s crying now, ragged sobs that he feels in his entire body, and which echo down the quiet street. He cries in the way he hasn’t let himself cry since he was a child, crying with every ounce of his pathetic existence, howling with all of the fear and anxiety that dictates each and every day of his life.

He’s wiping his nose on the edge of his old, tattered winter coat when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

He fumbles for it, noticing that it’s past midnight now as he reads the caller ID and sees Bucky’s name.

“Buck?” he answers, voice cracking.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says. “We were at the opera. Wagner. It took longer than I thought it would.”

And Steve can only laugh.

— —

“How do I do the frosting again?” Steve asks Sam across the room.

Sam, currently playing Mario Kart with Steve’s switch, answers, “Crumb coat, Steve. It’s all about the crumb coat.” Then he swears, having slipped on a banana peel that he himself had thrown just minutes ago on the previous loop.

Steve pulls up the cake decorating Youtube video he’s been following along with to see them do the “crumb coat”. “You don’t put any crumbs, you just put frosting on?” Steve asks Sam, confused.

Sam actually pauses the game to look at him with judgment. “The crumb coat catches crumbs. It is _ not _ made of them.”

“Jeez, okay,” Steve says, slathering a layer of frosting on the side of the cake to start the crumb coat, or whatever. Despite his lack of knowledge and expertise, he will try his absolute best to make this cake look, if not good, then decent.

“It’s weird that you’re baking a cake for your boss,” Sam says.

Steve pauses, takes a breath. “Yeah,” he lies. “Maybe a little.”

Sam knows that Steve had feelings for Bucky; _ had _, being the operative word there. Since he and Bucky started seeing each other, he’s barely spoken about him at all. If Sam hadn’t asked to come over and play the game, he wouldn’t have even known about the cake. It’s not like Steve enjoys lying by omission to his best friends, but he finds himself doing it more and more as things continue with Bucky: skipping plans, making excuses, being shady. But if it’s a choice between keeping Bucky a secret (and safe) and telling his friends, he’ll choose the former.

It’s only a matter of time, he tells himself. There will be a tipping point and Bucky will leave, then he can tell his friends about the man that he loves.

And maybe, if Steve makes a good enough cake, and maybe, if Steve kisses him softly, and maybe, if Steve can just find the right combination of actions and words, then maybe Bucky will leave.

Sam looks up at him from over the side of the couch. “You good?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Steve says. “Just wish I could get the fucking frosting right.” He doesn’t mean to let that much frustration seep into his voice, but it does. He’s just been so on edge the past few days, weeks, months.

“People practice this stuff for years. You’re not gonna get it perfect in a night. If you need a perfect cake, go buy it, then come play Mario Kart with me.”

“I don’t need it to be _ perfect _,” Steve says.

The thing is, he doesn’t need a perfect cake. He knows that. But what he wants is a cake that’s for Bucky; not some rosewater-flavored sponge with fondant icing made for Bucky by some anonymous high-brow chef at a restaurant he doesn’t want to go to. Steve wants to make a cake that Bucky likes by someone who loves him. 

That doesn’t mean that, because he loves him, Steve doesn’t want the cake to be perfect.

“If you get fired for baking a shitty cake, at least you don’t gotta work at that place anymore. What happened to job searching, anyway?” Sam asks. “You were all about it last fall.”

“Got busy,” Steve says, finishing off the crumb coat.

“Speaking of, did I tell you about the shit that went down last week at work?”

Steve looks up and realizes that… no, Sam didn’t. From the way that Sam’s looking at him, Steve realizes that he hasn’t heard much about Sam’s job at the VA lately. He hasn’t heard much from Sam at all, hasn’t invited him over, hasn’t been much of a good friend.

A lump forming in the back of his throat, Steve sets down the frosting tools he bought yesterday at Bed, Bath, & Beyond and sits down on the couch next to his friend to hear his story from work. It’s not until he’s laughing so hard, leaning into Sam’s side for support, that he also realizes that it’s been ages since he’s just sat down and laughed about something with someone.

The cake can wait a little while, he decides. He’s going to play a few rounds of Mario Kart with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Surprise. A hundred and eleven pins. The whole package.  
“You make me feel like KFC.”
> 
> Posting January 29.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise. A hundred and eleven pins. The whole package.
> 
> “You make me feel like KFC.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As shit starts to hit the fan in this chapter and the next couple, I would like to remember that everyone that this fic will have a happy ending!
> 
> Also, please remember to take care of yourself. The next few chapters will have some potentially triggering stuff in them. If you're not in a good place to read, please don't, and I'm always happy to answer questions about content on Twitter or Tumblr.

“This is cute,” Wanda says as she walks into the break room the next day. Steve’s set up a whole table with balloons, the cake, and a big card signed by all their coworkers. It’s not the birthday party he’d like to throw for Bucky, but it’s something he can do without getting too much suspicion from anyone. Just something that’s a little special for one of his coworkers, that’s all. He’d do it for any of them, he supposes. He just hasn’t.

Just as he pulls out his phone to message Bucky, Wanda grabs his arm. “Look at this,” she says, holding her own phone out.

It’s an email to everyone on in their department from Alexander Pierce, inviting them to a surprise party in one of the conference rooms.

Steve looks at the cake, the table — the small thing he put together for Bucky, the one thing he could do for Bucky, takes a breath, then walks out with Wanda.

— —

Bucky’s eyes go wide when the staff pops out from behind the furniture. They don’t meet Steve’s as he kisses and thanks his husband. Steve leaves the party early, not even pretending that he’s interested in having a slice of the Grand Marnier cake with Amaretto frosting.

— —

There’s a knock on his office door at about three o’clock. He’d closed it and kept it closed for the past hour or so, as well as adding something to his Microsoft Outlook calendar to note that he’s busy for the rest of the afternoon. The place doesn’t even have the good sense to use the Google Suite. Security issues, he supposes, but at what cost to productivity?

If it were Wanda at the door, she’d just barge in. Fury’s off for the day. Almost anyone else would check his calendar and see that visitors aren’t welcome.

So it’s gotta be Bucky.

There’s one terrible moment where Steve doesn’t want to open the door, where he doesn’t want to see Bucky. It’s been months since they’ve been together and up until now, he hasn’t had to see Bucky with his husband, a man who abuses him, both physically and mentally. He hasn’t had to see Bucky pretend to be in love with him, to kiss him, to thank him for doing the very minimum when he does the maximum amount of damage every other day.

But he did today, and it’s messing with Steve’s head.

His phone buzzes. 

** _Bucky Barnes_ **

You in your office?

Steve sighs, stands up, and goes to open the door.

Bucky’s standing on the other side, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Hi,” he says.

Steve stands in the doorway for a second, deciding whether or not he actually wants to invite Bucky inside. He doesn’t blame Bucky for what happened, but that also doesn’t mean he can deny what he’s feeling, and he’s not sure he’s in the right headspace to talk to Bucky. It would be easy to say the wrong thing.

But if he doesn’t talk to him, would that just be another reason for Bucky to stay with Alex? If he does talk to him, would that be another reason for Bucky to leave?

Every interaction with Bucky feels like it’s part of a game of chess that he doesn’t know the rules for.

Apparently he doesn’t need to say anything, his face says it all. Bucky’s face crumples. “I’m sorry,” he says, just above a watery whisper.

And it breaks Steve’s heart.

“Come in,” Steve says, then shuts the door behind Bucky. When the door is shut, Bucky throws himself into Steve’s arms. He’s crying, almost silent. “Buck,” he says, quiet, rubbing Bucky’s back and shutting his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky says, words muffled against Steve’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re even apologizing for,” Steve says. He pulls Bucky into the corner of his office, as far away from any windows as he can, so he can worry less about curious eyes. “You didn’t do anything.”

Steve feels unmoored, strange. His world narrows down to the office and the one other person in it. The weight of their relationship hangs over him — the lies, and the fear, and more than anything, the encompassing love. But also the knowledge that maybe love can’t keep them together.

Bucky pulls away and they just look at each other.

He’s about to say the wrong thing.

“Buck,” Steve continues, shutting his eyes tight. “Are you going to leave him?”

He’s never brought it up. Bucky hasn’t since the first night they were together, when he told Steve he wouldn’t leave. But it’s been months now and each day that Bucky stays with Alexander Pierce is like a small pin being shoved under his skin. One doesn’t hurt. Seven was fine. But now it’s been a hundred and eleven days, a hundred and eleven pins stuck in his back that he doesn’t know what to do with or how to live with.

Bucky tenses in his arms, presses his face to Steve’s chest. Steve knows the answer.

“It’s okay,” Steve says preemptively, though his voice feels hollow.

“I wish,” Bucky says when he can regain some of his composure, pulls back from Steve and looks him in the eye. There’s an apology in his watery eyes, which Steve hates and needs and doesn’t need at all. “You know that’s what I’d want in a perfect world.”

“It’s okay,” Steve repeats because he can’t say all of the things that he wants to say. He knows it’s more complicated than Bucky just deciding to leave one day and doing it. He  _ knows _ this, even if every part of him screams the opposite at him.

“I want to be with  _ you _ . I only want to be with  _ you _ .”

“It’s okay.” It feels like he’s flooding, his lungs filling with water.

“Steve, if I leave him, he’ll kill me.”

Drowning.

“What?” Steve asks, a gurgled sound.

“He’ll kill me.”

Steve holds on tighter. “That’s…” He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to reassure Bucky, to say,  _ no, he can’t _ . That it’s illegal, that it’s immoral. He wants to say that there’s a line between hurting someone and killing someone and that’s a line that Pierce wouldn’t cross.

But.

But how many people are killed each year by their spouses? And how many people were killed in the wars that Alexander Pierce helped orchestrate?

“We’ll run away,” Steve says, instead.

Bucky snorts out a laugh as he rolls his eyes. “Sure, we will.”

Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and squeezes as he looks down at Bucky, who won’t meet his eyes anymore. “We’ll run away. Get a car and just go, Buck. We can change our names, and--”

“This is real life, Steve. It’s not a spy movie.” Something in his expression goes cold as he pulls away from Steve. He crosses his arms over his chest; not in defiance, but protection, hunching in on himself like he’s trying to keep from falling apart. “You can’t  _ save  _ me,” he says, voice quieter but strong, like these are lines he’s rehearsed for a play. “I told you from the start that I wasn’t going to leave him. If that’s a dealbreaker, then I guess…” He trails off and shrugs, a short quick movement of his shoulders.

“I don’t want that.” Bucky glances up at Steve, then back down. “But I can’t keep sitting around and pretending that things are okay, either.” He feels the desperation in his voice as he says it. He’s falling apart, too. Or maybe he’s the only one, he doesn’t even  _ know _ anymore.

“We haven’t done a good job of pretending, as it is.” It’s supposed to be funny, maybe, but it just rings hollow.

“I want you to wake up every morning and feel safe. Do you feel that way now?” Steve asks, taking a hesitant step forward, then another. Slowly, he wraps his arms around Bucky again, who relaxes back into his grip.

“That’s not a fair question,” Bucky says into his shoulder.

“Why not?”

“You already know the answer.”

Steve inhales, sharp, but before he can respond, Bucky continues. “The way I see it, he’s only got a decade left where he’ll be a real issue. Maybe he’ll hang on another ten after that, but he’ll probably be sicker, so then it’ll just be words. I can live with words.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’ll have to live like this until you’re fifty years old. Buck, that’s gonna be half your life gone.”

Bucky presses in closer to Steve. “Shut up,” he says, but his voice is weak. “If it’s between waiting it out or letting him kill me, I think the answer is clear. I’d rather be alive.”

“We could go to the police,” Steve suggests, but he knows it wouldn’t work. Pierce has connections all over the city. The chances of getting the police to believe Bucky, who looks like he married Pierce for his money, are slim. All it would do is damage their relationship further, put Bucky in even more danger than he’s already in.

“He’s got me trapped,” Bucky says, as if he can read Steve’s train of thought. “No way out. I’ve thought of them all already.” He pauses, letting his forehead fall against Steve’s chest. “You’re the way out.”

Something in Steve’s chest tightens. “Then let’s go,” he says. “Let’s--’

“I don’t mean like that,” Bucky interrupts. ‘When I’m with you, it’s… You’re medicine. I melt.”

Steve wants this to make him feel better. He wants this to make him feel like he’s doing something. But he isn’t going to cure Bucky. If he’s medicine, he’s simply a pain reliever, good in the moment but without the ability to heal the underlying causes. Even if he loves Bucky and puts his whole self into loving Bucky, it doesn’t mean a thing, not if Bucky fears for his life.

Still, it’s not like he has any solutions at his fingertips. There are no easy ones. All he can do is tip Bucky’s face upwards and press a lingering kiss to Bucky’s forehead. He never had illusions that anything would be enough, but this certainly doesn’t feel like it.

“I didn’t mean for things to get like this,” Bucky says, exhaling, a moment later.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to thank you for the cake.” 

“Oh.”

“Wanda told me.”

“She would.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“I know.”

“So thanks,” Bucky says. 

“You’re welcome.” He presses another kiss to his hair. “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday.”

“You didn’t ruin my birthday. You can ruin it on Sunday.” He looks up at Steve, something like hope in his eye. “If you’re free?”

“You’re free?” Steve asks.

He nods. “Alex is leaving tonight for a week and a half, something sudden popped up with one of his friends in Beijing. That’s why he did the whole thing today, to make up for it.” He rolls his eyes, which are still red and watery. “Best birthday gift he could’ve given me, honestly.”

“A week and a half?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised.

“If you want--”

“I want,” Steve says, then leans in to kiss him, this time on the lips. “I want,” he repeats, breath hot against Bucky’s plush lips.

“Me too,” Bucky says, voice raspy as he pulls away. 

They stand there for a minute, breathing each other in. Not kissing, but still intimate, the late afternoon sun beaming down on them from the window of Steve’s office, bathing them in a warm glow. He just wants to look at Bucky, to hold him, to know he’s here and whole and safe.

But even as he does, Bucky’s words fade in and out of his mind:

_ He’ll kill me. _

And he feels like they’re on borrowed time.

— —

Bucky walks into Steve’s apartment and his frown grows into a smile. “Wow,” he says, taking a tentative step inside. Steve used a few hours of personal time this afternoon to get the place decorated and all he can say is that it was worth it, to see the way Bucky’s eyes light up as he takes in the streamers, the balloons, the personalized banner. He also had to cancel his Sunday plans with Natasha, but it’s all worth it to give Bucky the birthday weekend he deserves.

He turns to Steve and grins. “Though you’re the best thing here.”

“Am I?” Steve asks as Bucky crowds into his space.

“You are,” he says, hooking his fingers into Steve’s belt loops and pulling him in for a kiss.

Though the afternoon hangs above him like a dark cloud, he can admit that he feels safer in his home, Bucky next to him. Bucky presses in close, opening his mouth and letting the kiss go hot and dirty. Steve obliges him, giving it in turn, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Bucky’s pants to give his ass a squeeze.

Bucky breaks it off, just looking at him and smiling. “Can we get a pizza?” he asks.

“Of course.” It’s just after nine; Bucky wanted to wait until Pierce’s flight was in the air before coming over, didn’t want to risk it if he came back to the apartment and didn’t find Bucky there. But even though it’s getting late, Steve doesn’t mind. He has a place in mind — the pies are huge but delicious — and orders one up for the two of them on his phone.

“Cake first? Or pizza?” he asks, having retrieved his cake from the break room and taken it back with him to the apartment. There are a couple chunks missing from afternoon grazers, but it’s mostly in tact.

“Really?” Bucky asks.

“It  _ is _ your birthday.”

“Not until Sunday,” Bucky says, cheeks getting a little red. “Let’s get something on TV and just… have a date?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, of course.” Though, he pauses to kiss Bucky again, run a hand through his hair. “You want a real date?” he asks.

“If you don’t mind,” Bucky says, a little breathless. “Just a real weekend with my boyfriend.”

“I can do that,” Steve says, mind already racing with what he can take Bucky to do on Saturday.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes getting a little wide and a little wet, but in a different way, this time.

“Take a seat,” Steve says. “I’ll get you a drink.”

— —

They eat their pizza on the couch, knees knocking against each other, some stupid movie playing in the background. Then, Steve brings out the cake and lights the candles — not all 29 because there’s not enough room with the missing pieces —telling Bucky to close his eyes and make a wish.

And then they just go to bed.

Given that most of their encounters have something sexual about them, it’s a little surprising when Bucky simply changes into a pair of Steve’s sweats and a t-shirt, then wiggles himself into his position as the little spoon. It’s not that Steve minds; not at all. In fact, he loves the feeling of Bucky being so close, so safe. He loves wrapping his arms around him and smelling his hair and hearing his breaths even out.

And it just feels like the kind of normal, perfect night most couples get to have all the time.

— —

“Come on,” Steve says the next morning, sitting up and giving Bucky a gentle shake on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Bucky says, curling in closer to Steve, nuzzling his head into Steve’s abdomen.

“You want me to go without you?” Steve asks, an eyebrow raised.

“No,” Bucky repeats.

Steve reaches down, lets his hand linger in Bucky’s hair. He’s just had it cut, the lines clean and pristine. It looks good, though he likes it a little more when his hair grows out, forms a gentle curl. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” he asks.

“In a few hours, maybe,” Bucky says, voice muffled against Steve’s bare abs.

“In a few hours our train will have left.”

“Train?” Bucky asks, turning his face up to look at him in what must be an uncomfortable position. “We’re going on a train?”

Steve nods. “Mmm-hmm,” Steve hums, still playing with the short hairs at the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Where are we going on a train?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“Thought you didn’t want to get up.”

“Well I do now,” Bucky says, though he repositions himself so he’s laying with his head on Steve’s lap, facing up. “Or I will once I know where you’re taking me.”

There’s a moment where Steve feels a surge of uncertainty. With the limited time he’d had to plan, this seemed like a great idea. But now, with Bucky looking up at him from bed with expectations, he can’t help but think that a day trip out of the city isn’t quite what he’s used to. He has that house in Park City; last year he and his husband toured Amsterdam and the Netherlands on their vacation. Steve’s offering him a seventy-five minute ride on a commuter train to a small town for a picnic. It’s not comparable, not really.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, maybe a bit too quickly. He makes himself smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You don’t have to do anything, you know.” Bucky looks away, over towards the window. “I just wanted to spend time together, I didn’t mean for it to become a big deal.”

“I want you to have a good time,” Steve says. “I jush I could make it a bigger deal. Make it perfect for you,” he adds, too honest.

Bucky looks up, rolling his eyes, but can’t hide the smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Whatever deal you wanna make it is fine by me. Just wanna spend the day with you.”

“Cold Spring,” Steve says. “I’m gonna take you to Cold Spring for the afternoon. Have a picnic up there. Does that sound okay?”

Bucky just smiles at him now. “Steve, that sounds perfect,” he says before sitting up, taking Steve’s face in his hands, and kissing him.

— —

It turns out to be about as perfect a day as Steve’s ever had. 

They take the train to Grand Central, grinning at each other the whole way. Bucky’s wearing one of Steve’s worn college t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that are just a little too big on him underneath his expensive peacoat; it’s a real struggle for Steve to keep his hands off of him, looking like that, but he restrains himself.

But once they’re on the hour-long train out to Cold Spring, Bucky inches in closer and takes his hand. He starts talking about how long it’s been since he’s gotten to get out of the city and into the country, about how much he loves New York, about the trips his mom would take him on to little towns on the commuter rail. They were all they could afford, he realizes now, but back then, they’d seemed like they were the most exciting weekends in the world. 

“What was your favorite memory?” Steve asks, tickled by all of it, happy just to hear Bucky sound so excited about something, so carefree.

Bucky rests his head against Steve’s shoulder. “There was this one time… It was just after my dad had all his bullshit. I was going through a  _ rebellious  _ phase.” He rolls his eyes a little at the memories. It’s the second time he’s ever mentioned his biological father to Steve, though he talks about Salvatore all the time.

“Makes sense,” Steve says and Bucky nods.

“I so was angry at the world, you know? And I didn’t want to come on this trip at all. I forget where we went, honestly, but I was a monster the entire day. We had reservations at a restaurant, someplace that seemed really fancy to me at the time, that I dreaded, but my mom was so excited for. I hated wearing button downs.” And Steve has to chuckle at that, because Bucky inhabits the world of button downs now, is practically their king. Bucky nudges Steve’s side with his elbow, an acknowledgement of his unspoken agreement. “Anyhow, we were back in the hotel and she could see that I wasn’t having it.”

He pauses, exhales. He looks away from Steve for a moment, over to the side of the train, then back up at him.

“Instead of getting angry, she just sat down next to me on the bed and asked what I wanted for dinner. Honestly, I had no idea, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.”

“And what was that?”

Bucky grins and shrugs. “KFC.”

“Really?”

He nods. “KFC. I’d never actually eaten there before, even, just seen ads on TV and knew there was one a few blocks from the hotel. And you know what she did?”

“What?”

“Called the restaurant, cancelled our reservation, and took me to KFC.” He looks down at his hands, smile growing. “We had a really fun time, too. We laughed so hard people stared and I went back and forth to the soda machine about ten times. It felt like I was okay for the first time in months.” Steve reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand in his, gives it a squeeze. Bucky looks back up. “Now I realize that those trips were one of the few times a year where she really treated herself. Let herself get dressed up and eat something good that she didn’t have to cook.”

“But it sounds like she had fun, too,” Steve prompts, not wanting Bucky to get lost in guilt.

“I think so,” he says. “This feels like that, to be honest.”

“Really?” Steve asks.

He nods, exhales as he cuddles in. “You make me feel like KFC.”

Steve bites his lip and shuts his eyes, pulling Bucky in close. Even if he can’t imagine what Bucky has to go through on a daily basis, he understands that feeling of release, of joy, of home, because that’s the way that Bucky makes him feel, too. And that’s why all of this is worth it, he reminds himself, even if it’s difficult. 

He’ll take Bucky any way he can get him and with a side of mashed potatoes.

— —

They spend the morning on a slow hike along Breakneck Ridge, taking in the views of the Hudson River and Storm King Mountain. Steve pulls out his phone and snaps a few photos of Bucky admiring the scenic vista before Bucky sees what he’s doing and drags him in for a selfie or ten. “Alright, come on, come on,” Steve says, “Just one more.” And as he snaps the final one, Bucky kisses his cheek.

It’s the background of his phone in a matter of seconds.

Eventually Bucky says he’s hungry, so they double back and head into town. They grab lunch at a little French bistro on Main Street, then putter around the antique stores and tchotchke shops for a while, taking a full fifteen minutes in the most haunted doll shop either of them has ever seen. Bucky buys Steve a big scoop of chocolate gelato. Steve buys Bucky a little antique locket he’s been eyeing, and promises to print out a picture of the two of them for it.

“You’re a sap,” Bucky says, but kisses him in front of the handful of people in the shop.

It takes Steve by surprise, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, it takes most of his self-control not to deepen the kiss, to keep it from getting inappropriate for public.

When they get to the counter to pay, the grey-haired woman who runs the shop tells them that they’re a downright adorable couple. Bucky takes Steve’s hand in his and thanks her.

— —

They pick up a charcuterie board and a bottle of dry white wine from a small grocery shop and bring it to Dockside Park, to eat and drink as the sun goes down. At some point, Bucky sets down his glass of wine, takes Steve’s hand in his, and interlaces their fingers. They don’t say anything for a while. Bucky looks out at the sunset, all pinks and oranges, and Steve looks at the way that the sunset bathes Bucky’s face in colorful light. He’s so beautiful that sometimes Steve forgets to breathe.

And Bucky’s phone chimes only a few times with texts from his husband as they sit there, each a stark reminder of how short their time is together.

“I love you,” Steve says, unable to help himself.

Bucky looks over, lips turned up in an amused smile. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He pauses, then adds, “Happy birthday.”

“It’s not until tomorrow.”

“We’ve been celebrating all day, though.” He pauses. “Guess I’ll have to figure out how to top this in the morning.” Though he can’t think of what else he could do that would be better than this, the two of them spending a whole day together away from the pressures and horrors of the city, just loving each other in a quiet world and in a quiet way.

“I can think of a few ways,” Bucky says, leaning in and kissing Steve. It’s not a long kiss, but there’s heat, a promise in there. Then, Bucky pulls away and hovers next to Steve’s lips. “Thank you,” he says.

“This was a great day.”

“It’s not over yet,” Bucky says.

And he’s right.

— —

They head back to the city on the last train of the day, the sun already set, replaced by a slim crescent moon. They’re quiet for most of the ride, sitting hand in hand while Bucky looks out the window. Something settles over them, the kind of melancholy that comes from knowing that a good day is coming to a close. 

“Will you go home with me again?” Steve asks quietly as they near Grand Central Station. 

“Of course,” Bucky says as he slips his hand out from under Steve’s.

He understands why they can’t hold hands anymore, but Steve feels lonelier without it.

— —

They’re on each other once they walk through the door. Steve gets his hands beneath that peacoat, wraps them around Bucky and pulls him in close. Bucky nips Steve’s bottom lip as he wraps his arms around his neck, pressing their bodies flush together. He pulls away and just looks at Steve for a moment, up and down, a satisfied smile on his lips. “Happy birthday to me,” he says, teasing.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Wait until I have my shirt off, at least.”

Bucky pulls him back in for a quick kiss, then away again. “You’re the whole package, babe. Look just as good with a shirt on than with one off. Why’d you think I bought you those fancy ones?”

“Buck,” Steve starts, but then Bucky’s hustling him towards the bed, pushing him down. He sheds his peacoat and lets it fall off his shoulders onto the floor behind him. Taking his time, he removes each piece of Steve’s clothes, kissing every part of exposed skin until Steve feels like he could fall apart at any minute. “Isn’t it  _ your _ birthday?” he asks, finally, as Bucky pulls off his last sock with a small flourish, letting it fall to the floor.

“Not until tomorrow,” Bucky says with a smile as he stands up and makes quick work of his own clothes before pouncing back onto Steve and kissing him, teasing him, driving him crazy with small touches all over his body. Steve knows he’s responding, kissing and touching, but it’s Bucky taking the lead again and Steve feels the best kind of powerless beneath his hands. 

Bucky runs a hand over Steve’s thigh, then pulls him over so Steve’s hovering above him, braced on his knees and forearms. Then Bucky flips himself over, ass up, and Steve doesn’t need an engraved invitation to know what to do next. He trails kisses down Bucky’s back — lips gentle against a large purple bruise beneath his ribcage — until he’s kissing the small of Bucky’s back. Bucky bucks his ass up and Steve laughs. “I’m taking my time,” Steve says.

“Take your time a little faster,” Bucky says, voice slightly muffled by the mattress.

“Yes, your highness,” Steve says getting up onto his knees and gently spreading Bucky’s cheeks apart, giving them a squeeze, and sticking his tongue inside. Bucky stiffens at the moment of contact, then relaxes, a soft groan escaping his lips. Steve loses track of time, focusing instead on getting Bucky loose and ready for him, on the small sounds Bucky makes, the way that Bucky’s body responds to his own.

Eventually, when his jaw is sore and Bucky keeps humming, he straightens up, wiping an errant drip of drool off of his chin. “You ready?” he asks.

“Born ready,” Bucky says.

Steve excuses himself to get his supplies from the bedside table drawer. When he turns back around, Bucky’s gotten himself back onto fours, his ass still in the air. As sexy as it looks, it’s also a little silly looking, and Steve stops to kiss Bucky on the temple. “Are you stalling?” Bucky asks, turning to face him, amused.

“Just enjoying. But I’m getting to it, don’t you worry.”

He gets behind Bucky and puts on the condom. Bucky’s loose, but he still coats himself in lube because he wants to make sure he doesn’t hurt Bucky. “Need a countdown?” he says, lining himself up, and putting a hand on Bucky’s back for balance.

“Yeah, start off from fifty.”

“Fifty, forty-nine, forty—” Bucky shoves his ass back onto Steve’s dick and forty-eight dies in his throat. “Buck,” he croaks instead.

“Whoops,” Bucky says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry.

Getting his bearings back, Steve grips Bucky’s hips and thrusts. “Higher,” Bucky demands and Steve obeys, adjusting himself so that the next time he thrusts, it’s Bucky’s breath that hitches. “Oh God,” he says, the last coherent words he manages for a while.

He continues to thrust into Bucky until he feels himself getting close. “Wanna see your face, Buck,” he tells Bucky.

Bucky exhales. “Okay, yeah, but quick,” he tells him.

As Steve pulls himself out, Bucky whimpers, breathing hard. He collapses onto the bed and Steve guides him over onto his back. When Bucky opens his eyes, he smiles up at Steve. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve says, leaning down to kiss Bucky on the lips. It’s that feeling of electricity he’s felt with Bucky since the first time they touched, the feeling he’s never had with anyone else before he met Bucky, and he knows he’ll never have again. He wants to chase the current, feel it in his whole body, keep it inside himself and let it power him. Bucky’s that powerful. This is that powerful.

But he’s the one who pulls away. “Ready?” he asks. Bucky hums in agreement and Steve positions himself to hit at the angle Bucky needs.

Neither of them last long. 

Bucky goes first, dick in his own hand, streaks of cum spitting onto his belly and Steve’s. Steve doesn’t last much longer, Bucky’s closed eyes, his parted lips, the soft exhalation enough to bring Steve over the edge. He falls onto Bucky when it’s done, wrapping him in his arms and holding him tight. Tears prick at the corners of Steve’s eyes and he doesn’t know why, it seems so silly to cry. He’s not sad, he’s just… feeling everything. 

“I love you so much,” he says, glad his voice comes out steady.

“I love you, too.” Bucky kisses the edge of Steve’s jaw. “Thank you. It’s been a perfect day.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation. “Yeah, there is. There’s still tomorrow.” Steve lifts his head long enough to look at Bucky, whose eyes seem bright even in the dark room. He smiles. “Let’s get to sleep, okay?”

Steve nods, pulling himself up and off of Bucky, feeling pleasantly sore all over. He heads to the bathroom so he can clean himself off, but once he turns on the light, he pauses to look back at Bucky on the bed, now dimly lit.

And he thinks he sees a few tears running down his cheek.

— —

They’re both exhausted and fall into a deep sleep. So deep, in fact, that Steve doesn’t even hear the door unlock and open the next morning, only hears the voice saying, “What the fuck?” in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> The bagel place. PTO. Quarterly remarks.  
“I’m sorry.”
> 
> Posting February 5.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bagel place. PTO. Quarterly remarks.
> 
> “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Steve's landlord Kevin was not the person at the door.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry in advance.

Bucky’s up like a shot and Steve’s not far behind. “Natasha?” he asks, still with morning bleary eyes. He looks to Bucky, who has thrown the covers over his head, literally hiding from Steve’s friends in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” she asks, eyes darting to Bucky and Steve, then over to Sam, standing next to her.

“I’m…” Steve trails off. “Why are you in my apartment?”

“You haven’t been checking your phone,” Sam says, voice calm, placating. “We wanted to check in on you.”

“I was busy.”

“This is the weekend Peggy’s getting married,” Sam says, still in that damnable calm voice. “We wanted to make sure that’s why you weren’t checking your phone.”

“Evidently not,” Natasha says, taking a few steps into the apartment. “Hi Bucky,” she adds, looking at the blanket-clad lump next to Steve, who stiffens at his name. Her eyes dart over to Steve, her eyebrows raised, like she’s expecting some kind of explanation.

“Now’s not a good time,” Steve says, trying to rein in his anger at her obvious judgment, remember that these are his best friends, but he’s having trouble, his tone cold.

“That’s obvious,” Natasha says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re playing with fire here.”

“Natasha,” Sam says, crossing the room to stand next to her. “Let’s go to the bagel place, okay? Maybe Steve can join us in a few minutes and we can have a conversation about this.”

“I’m not, we have plans today,” Steve says.

“So that’s why you cancelled on me,” Natasha says. “Here I was thinking that you were just depressed.”

“Natasha.”

“What kind of plans can you have? He’s married, Steve,” Natasha says. “Or have you forgotten that?”

“There’s more going on than you know,” Steve snaps back.

“Is there? Because I think what I know is pretty important.” Anger seeps into her words but she doesn’t raise her voice, keeps herself calm. She’s the opposite of Steve in a fight — hotheaded and more irritated by the second. It’s why she always wins. “We talked about this. You told us you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

And then Bucky lets the blankets slide off of him. “I’m right here,” he says. “I’m the stupid decision that’s sitting right here.”

Natasha hesitates for just a moment, but her stance doesn’t change. “You have to know then how stupid this is for the both of you.”

“I do,” Bucky says. “If you think that I haven’t thought of that every moment we’ve been together, then…” He trails off, exhales, shakes his head, a small movement.

“This isn’t stupid,” Steve says. He reaches out for Bucky’s hands. “Buck, this isn’t. It’s the realest—”

“It’s stupid,” Bucky interupts. “God, you couldn’t even tell your best friends. You stopped talking to them.” He’s not looking at Steve, looking instead to the bad carpet underneath Steve’s couch like a thousand yard stare.

“It’s not… we talk all the time, tell him, Sam.” He looks to Sam, who doesn’t say anything, because they both know how withdrawn Steve’s been for the past few months. Sure, they’ve been talking. But Steve hasn’t said much. Steve swallows hard, then turns back to Bucky. “I’ll tell them everything right now. How’s that, Buck?”

But Bucky’s barely listening. He’s just shaking his head, face pale. “I can’t ruin your life, too.”

“We’re gonna… We’ll be at the bagel place, okay, Steve?” Sam says. “C’mon Natasha,” he says, taking Natasha’s hand.

Steve looks up at his friends. Sam nods, but Natasha isn’t looking at him, she’s looking at Bucky. “Do what’s right,” she says, before turning her back and walking out of the apartment.

“Sorry,” Sam says, following her. 

The door shuts, and Steve turns to Bucky. “Don’t take any of that to heart,” he says.

But Bucky shakes his head. “She’s right.”

“She’s not.”

Bucky turns to face him. He’s still looking pale as he takes Steve’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “You deserve to be with someone—”

“Don’t tell me what I deserve,” Steve interrupts. “I know what I deserve. And I deserve to be with someone I love and who loves me. That’s what we are.”

Bucky swallows hard, shakes his head. “We can’t hold hands outside of this apartment. You can’t tell your friends. We’ll never have a real relationship.” His voice is soft and distant, yet, each word hits Steve with with increased force. Bucky pauses, takes a breath. “I was going to wait until tonight.”

“Don’t,” Steve says. “Don’t do this.”

“You have no idea what this has meant to me and how much I care about you.”

“Then stay with me,” Steve says. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t drag you down with me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “And it’ll only get worse. It’s only getting worse.”

“Then leave him,” Steve says, barely able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears. “Leave him, Buck. I told you, we can run away. We’ll find a way.”

“I’m not going to let you throw your life away for me.”

“It’s my choice.  _ It’s my life _ .” He knows he’s getting too worked up, that it won’t help anything to get upset, but he feels the things he cares about slipping through his fingers again, everything out of his control. “And you’re worth it. You don’t get to tell me you’re not. Only I can decide.”

He gets on his knees and closes the space between them, taking both of Bucky’s hands in his. His heart is beating through his chest. “I have never felt anything like the way I feel for you. I don’t care that we have to hide, okay? It’s worth it knowing I’m with you. It’s worth it knowing that you’re safe and you’re happy, even if it’s not forever.” He tries to smile. “We love each other. Let’s stay together.”

Bucky exhales, tears filling his blue eyes. Steve hates that he put them there. Slowly, Bucky extracts his hands from Steve’s and wraps them around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s like Steve can breathe again. He’s about to kiss Bucky’s neck when he hears Bucky say, quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

It’s like getting the shit beat of him. It’s worse than getting the shit beat out of him. It’s Peggy returning her engagement ring. It’s watching his mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground. It’s every night he’s spent in his tiny studio apartment, staring at the ceiling and wondering why he’s here, what he’s doing, whether any of it is worth it. 

“No,” Steve says, unable to say anything else as Bucky pulls away for him. He reaches for Bucky’s hand, but Bucky pulls it out of his grasp and shakes his head. “ _ No _ ,” he says, more firm. Then, voice cracking, “Please.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Bucky says. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Steve shakes his head. “He hurts you, Buck.”

“I’m gonna be fine. It won’t be forever.”

“I’m afraid he’ll—”

“Don’t,” he says, soft but firm, reaching out like he’s going to put a finger to Steve’s lips, but dropping his hand before he makes it there. “Don’t,” he repeats. He pauses, takes a moment just to look at Steve. “I’m gonna get dressed and go.”

“Please don’t.”

“I need to go.”

And as if to affirm his decision, his phone’s fucking ringtone goes off, loud and annoying and  _ loathed _ . Bucky shuts his eyes for a second, face pained. 

“You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to go back.”

“Except I do.” He hesitates again, and for a second, he thinks Bucky is going to kiss him. For a second, he thinks Bucky is going to  _ stay _ .

But a moment later, he’s out of Steve’s bed. And a couple minutes later, he’s out of Steve’s apartment entirely. And Steve starts to cry.

— —

Of course, that’s when his own phone begins to vibrate.

** _Sam Wilson_ **

Hey, we’re at the bagel place. Got you your usual if you wanna come chat.

Promise Nat’s not gonna bite.

But we’d really like to talk to you.

He knows that he needs to figure things out with his friends. They’ve been with him a lot longer than he’s even known Bucky; they need to come first, before Steve has a pity party. So he texts back, saying he’ll be there soon, and forces himself into some clothes and cleans himself to the point where he won’t be an embarrassment sitting next to them in public.

Still, he knows he looks like shit as he slides into their booth twenty minutes later asking, “Is this an intervention?”

“Yes,” Natasha says at the Sam says, “No man, just want to touch base with you.” They look at each other for a long moment, something like tension buzzing between them, then Sam sighs. “We’re worried about you. Have been for a while.”

“I can take care of myself,” Steve says. “I know what I’m doing here.”

He knows he’s not telling the whole truth here, especially given his conversation with Bucky just a few minutes ago. And from the way that his friends look at him, he knows that he’s been caught there. Natasha looks at him stony-faced, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back in the booth. Sam just shakes his head. Each have half-finished bagels in front of them. Natasha’s cappuccino is still half-full and cooling.

“So, when is he leaving his husband?” Natasha asks. Steve feels sick to his stomach, unsure of what he can even say. Natasha quirks an eyebrow. “He’s not?” she asks. She doesn’t sound surprised.

“It’s complicated,” Steve says.

Sam clears his throat. “You know that we love you, right?” Sam asks.

“Of course.”

“And we don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m not—“

“Stop interrupting,” Natasha says.

Steve purses his lips. “I don’t see how I can be interrupting when we shouldn’t be having this conversation,” Steve says, his voice cracking.

“Really?” Natasha asks. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation. Steve, you’re losing it. We’re your friends and we’re here for you when you’re losing it, but don’t try and tell us that you’re not losing it.”

“I’m not losing it!” Steve says, momentarily forgetting his indoor voice for a moment, obviously sounding like he’s losing it. He pauses, takes a breath, then continues at a not-losing-it volume. “I know what I’m doing, okay? And I know that it’s not great. But if this is the only way that I can be with him, then I’ll be with him this way.” His throat goes dry, knowing that it may not be up to him, though. That it may be over. He doesn’t quite know how to tell that to Sam and Natasha though, not when he hasn’t quite allowed himself to internalize it yet. Not when he knows that he and Bucky still love each other and there’s a chance to keep it going.

“Then why won’t he leave his husband?” Natasha asks, her voice a little softer, not entirely unkind.

“That’s none of your business,” Steve says on reflex, then frowns. He takes a breath, tries to calm himself down. “That’s… It’s not my place to say,” he amends, remembering that these are his friends, that they want to help him. And helping him means that they’re helping Bucky now, too. He leans forward. “It’s really bad. I can’t say anything else but that it’s bad. It’s  _ that  _ bad.”

“Okay,” Sam says. He reaches over and puts a hand on Natasha’s thigh. “Okay, it’s bad. And you all can figure out options, right? Find a way to get him out of there? But in the meantime, won’t sleeping with him only exacerbate the problems he has?”

Steve pauses. He takes a breath. And he says, “It’s all I can do.”

“What?” Natasha asks.

“Sleeping with him. Spending time with him. It’s all I can do to make his life better.” His eyes start to brim with tears and he hates himself for it. “Do you think I don’t want him to leave? Of course I do. I want to pick him up on the curb as he walks out of that penthouse for the last time and take him away forever but I can’t do that. It’s not my choice.”

Sam nods. “But are you okay?” he asks.

“What?”

“With all of this? Are you  _ okay _ ?”

Steve blinks, taken aback. “No,” he says.

Sam glances at Natasha, then to Steve’s uneaten bagel, then back up to him. “So what about you, then?”

“It doesn’t really matter, I guess,” Steve says.

“Yes, it does,” Natasha responds.

“I can’t talk about this,” Steve says, standing up. “I can’t—“

Natasha gets up in a flash and for a moment, Steve thinks she’s going to punch him. He braces himself but for what turns out to be a fierce hug. “We’re hard on you because we care,” she says. “We’re hard on you because we think this could lead to your unhappiness.”

“I was already unhappy,” Steve says, wrapping his own arms around Natasha. “He makes me happy. He makes me  _ so _ happy, Natasha. Even with all of the bullshit.”

_ You make me feel like KFC. _

She leans back, looks him in the eye. “This isn’t your savior complex coming out to play?” she asks.

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he tells her. “I… haven’t felt like this about anyone. Not Peggy. Not anyone else I’ve ever dated. Natasha, I’m in love with him.” He feels his grip on her shoulders get a little tighter as he says it. It feels good to hear the words come out of his mouth and be heard, to acknowledge to someone who is not Bucky that his feelings are real and matter.

It’s about then that he feels Sam’s arms slide around him, too. “I don’t like to feel left out,” he says and, for the first time that morning, Steve laughs. Still, it rings hollow, and he feels more alone than ever when his friends detach themselves from him.

“What’s that face mean?” Natasha asks.

Steve swallows hard. “He broke up with me this morning.”

“Oh,” is all she has to say.

Steve exhales, shakes his head. “I don’t think… It can’t really be over. Not when we both.”

Natasha reaches over the table and takes his hand. “We’ll figure this out,” she says. “But for now? Eat your bagel.”

It’s good advice. No one makes good decisions on an empty stomach.

— —

He texts Bucky:

_ Let’s talk. _

He texts him: 

_ I love you. _

He texts him:

_ Please call me? _

And he texts him: 

_ I’ll come see you at work tomorrow _ .

He never gets a response.

— —

His heart’s pounding in his chest as he approaches Bucky’s office door on Monday morning. He barely slept the night before, not even bothering to try. More than one person looks at him as he walks through the halls of Insight Incorporated, eyebrows raised at the dark bags beneath his eyes.

He doesn’t care. He just needs to see Bucky, and…

Make sure he’s okay. Make things right.

“You looking for James Barnes?” a woman in the hallway asks Steve as he walks up to Bucky’s office door.

“Yeah, he step out?” he asks. He can see that Bucky’s office is dark.

The woman rolls her eyes. “Out on a three week vacation. Last minute, too. Must be nice to be married to the big boss.” She leans in, conspiratorially. “I’ve been here eight years and still only have twelve days of PTO.” She raises her eyebrows, like she expects Steve to commiserate with her.

“You should let them know that at your next review,” Steve says and she nods.

Steve pulls out his phone, checks Whatsapp. The two little blue checkmarks are next to his messages, indicating that Bucky’s read them, but there’s still no response.

Not wanting to be overbearing, he tells himself that he’ll send just one more:

_ Heard you’re on vacation. I’ll be here if you need anything. I love you. _

He keeps his phone next to him throughout the day. He gets texts from Natasha and Sam; Thor keeps sending him memes, and his old friend Bruce wants to meet up for drinks that night, if Steve’s free. He gets emails from work and from advertisers and from a college professor he asked about being a reference. Once or twice he gets a notification from an app, even, telling him to log in and collect his daily prize. But he gets nothing from Bucky Barnes.

— —

By Wednesday night, the blue checkmarks haven’t appeared next to Steve’s message. And he starts to get really worried.

— —

It’s a grim, drizzly Thursday morning, where the grey Manhattan skyscrapers seem to blend in with the low-hanging clouds. When Steve comes up out of the subway station into Manhattan, he considers just heading right back down again. But then someone from the office spots him and starts chatting, so Steve finds himself entering Insight Incorporated despite his better judgment.

As he boots up his computer, he tells himself that he won’t do much today — how can he, when his supervisor left for a two-week vacation without instructions — and maybe even job search a little. The morning emails start coming in, each with a little ping. One attracts his attention; it’s from Alexander Pierce.

He opens it.

To: Insight-Staff@insight.org

From: APierce@insight.org

Subject: Quarterly Remarks

> Dear Insight Incorporated Staff,
> 
> As winter turns to spring, I’m reminded again of how fleeting our time together, both in this office and on this earth, will be. Several Insight Incorporated executives who began this company with me years ago have made the jump and will be retiring at the end of this month. We will miss Arnold Brown and Edgar Lascombe; though, I doubt they will think much of us while enjoying Arnold Palmers on the golf course this summer, and spending much deserved time with their families.
> 
> Still, I know that in our time together, Insight Incorporated employees are truly giving it their all. We’ve had record earnings for the eighteenth-straight quarter and are on-track for a nineteenth quarter, as well. Those earnings will return to your pockets through our Employee Retirement Profit Sharing Program – a thank you for your hard work and time at this company.
> 
> But there’s something else I would like to do to thank you all this spring. Recently, I’ve been reminded of just how important it is to take time off and spend it with the people you care about. My husband – Marketing Executive James Barnes – and I are currently on a trip to Portugal. The Portuguese countryside is beautiful, the people are kind, and it’s reminded me why marriage is a beautiful institution.
> 
> In that vein, I’d like to offer two paid vacation days to all Insight Incorporated employees: tomorrow and Monday. If you’d like to roll these days over for a planned vacation on a later date, you may, but the office itself will be closed.
> 
> Let’s all remember that the key to a better company is happier employees. I hope this is a step in the right direction. I’ll be back at the end of next week, and James will return the following week, tan and happy.
> 
> Best wishes from Lisbon,
> 
> Alexander Pierce

Attached to the bottom of the email is a photo of Bucky in sunglasses and a loose white button down, grinning on a sailboat. The wind whips through his hair and the sun shines bright behind him.

Steve feels sick to his stomach.

He shoots off an email to Fury telling him he’s taking a sick day, shuts his computer, and goes back home in the drizzling rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Veuve. King of the Grill. Eggs.  
“You’re scaring the otters.”
> 
> Posting February 12.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veuve. King of the Grill. Eggs.
> 
> “You’re scaring the otters.”

“This is bullshit,” Steve says, tossing a rubber ball against the wall of his apartment, catching it, and throwing it again. He’s been doing this for an hour and a half, probably developing carpal tunnel with each catch, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s the only way to pass the time that hasn’t driven him completely crazy.

“Tell me again how having the day off of work is bullshit?” Wanda asks as she drops onto Steve’s couch and flips the TV from whatever it was playing to whatever it is she wants to watch. Steve is not paying much attention, truth be told. “Tell me again how going to a lake house in the Catskills is bullshit?”

“That whole…” He sighs in frustration. “He’s taking two weeks.”

“Bucky is taking three,” Wanda counters. “You’re not irritated with him only because you like him.”

She’s right but Steve doesn’t say anything.

“Let’s just enjoy this weekend, okay? It is so relaxing, there’s barely any phone service, and—“

“There’s no phone service?” Steve asks, sitting up and looking at her for the first time in a while. He misses catching the ball and it bounces off of his shoulder onto the floor with a thunk, then rolls underneath his bed.

Wanda blinks. “It’s in the mountains. It’s very remote.”

“Is there Internet?” Steve asks.

She shakes her head. “Is there a reason why are you hung up on this?”

Ignoring his ball, Steve crosses the room to where he has his phone plugged in to charge. He takes it off of the cable and unlocks it, going to Whatsapp. He hasn’t texted Bucky since he got the email from Pierce and he hasn’t gotten a response, either.

But something’s changed, at least: there’s little blue checkmarks next to Steve’s last message now, meaning that Bucky’s read them.

He sighs, locks his phone, and looks at Wanda. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

— —

There’s a bottle of champagne on Steve’s desk when he walks into his office on Tuesday morning.

Confused – and a little concerned that he’s about to be framed for drinking at the office or something like that – Steve takes a tentative step into the office, only to be distracted by a noise behind him, someone yelling.

“This is bullshit.” He rips his eyes away from the bottle and walks back out into the hallway, just in time to see Jasper Sitwell being escorted out of the office by a burly security officer in a bulletproof vest. “Call Alexander Pierce, tell him this is happening—“

“This came from the top,” says Brock Rumlow, who is walking next to the guard calmly. Steve’s only met the guy once, at that meeting on his first day of the company. He cuts an intimidating figure, his muscles bulging out of his white button down, but he doesn’t look particularly thrilled with what’s happening. Steve can’t tell if it’s because he’s genuinely upset with what’s happening, or if it’s because the ruckus is starting to attract attention, people along the rows of offices sticking their heads out to watch the goings on. “Pierce’s orders,” he adds in his gruff voice.

“I am good at my job!” Sitwell yells. He looks around a little feverishly before his eyes land on Steve. “Rogers! Tell them that I’m good at my job. Tell them that they’re fucking this up!”

Frankly, Steve doesn’t know much about Sitwell’s work. They’ve only worked together on one project so far, and it mostly consisted of six emails where he directed Steve as to what he wanted done. Hardly a partnership. And Wanda’s feedback about Sitwell hasn’t been shining, either.

Still, he manages to say, “He’s good at his job,” though it’s of no use. Steve gets the feeling that whatever Jasper’s being dragged out of the building about has very little to do with his actual job performance. 

Something sticks in Steve’s throat as he turns around again and looks at the bottle of champagne on his desk, Sitwell’s protestations still audible in the background. Feeling uneasy, he goes to his desk and logs onto the computer, hoping someone will have emailed him some explanation for the champagne.

“Congratulations, Executive Rogers,” someone says from the doorway while Steve’s back is turned. He looks up and, to his relief, it’s just Fury.

“For what?” Steve asks.

Fury raises an eyebrow. “Your promotion.”

“What? I didn’t…” He looks at the champagne. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, gesturing to the bottle.

“Oh, probably. Alex loves sending Veuve. He had it at his wedding.” And before Steve has a chance to unpack that, Fury’s taking a seat in his office. “California, though? Really? I didn’t realize you wanted to move out west.”

There’s a beat. “California?” Steve asks.

“We’ll miss you here, though it is an excuse to give Wanda the promotion she—“

“I’m not moving to California,” Steve interrupts. “There’s something… I never applied for a promotion. There’s been some mistake.” He tries smiling, even as panic wells up in his gut.

Fury frowns. “Well, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Rogers. You’ll love San Francisco.”

“I’m not, I won’t move,” Steve says. “I need… is there someone from HR I can talk to?” he adds as Wanda pops her head into the office.

“Steve! You didn’t tell me you applied for a promotion. Congratulations!”

“How’d you find out?” Steve asks.

“The email,” she says, frowning. “It was sent to the whole department? Haven’t you checked?”

“Haven’t had a chance,” Steve mutters, finally getting to his computer. Not caring that Wanda and Fury are standing there, he clicks into his Outlook and lo and behold, there’s an email from…

James Barnes.

An email from James Barnes to the whole department, congratulating him on his promotion and saying that they’ll all miss Steve once he moves to sunny California.

“What the fuck?” Steve spits.

— —

It’s the same text message he sends Bucky but gets no response to.

It’s a long day. He contacts HR, tries to talk to them about what happened, about how he really can’t take this promotion and leave the city. There’s confusion and more than once, Steve wishes he could rip his hair out and scream because no one seems to understand him when he speaks. It seems like no one in the history of the company has ever declined a promotion for any reason, it’s like the words don’t translate, even when he does his best to explain himself.

After most of a wasted day — and still no contact from Bucky — Steve cuts his losses and heads out early. He just got a promotion and all. Gotta go out and celebrate.

He takes the train home but gets off a few stops before his own without thinking too hard about it. His tired feet carry him into Prospect Park and, then, more specifically, the Prospect Park Zoo. He does the zoo backwards, saying hello to the mongoose first, then the bush baby in the far buildings behind the sea lion’s rock. When he’s finished with those, he stops to watch the sea lions for a little while, rewarded when Half-Time comes up to the edge of their exhibit and looks him right in the eye.

Finally, he doubles back to the front of the zoo. It’s a short walk to the otters but he feels his own feet dragging.

So that’s why it’s such a surprise to see Bucky, who is supposed to be shopping for a vacation home in Portugal, standing in the otter exhibit with a black eye.

— —

“Woah there buddy—“

“Steve, stop—“

“Excuse me!”

“You can’t—“

It’s probably a good thing that the man guiding his two daughters through the prairie dog exhibit is big enough to keep Steve from climbing into the otter exhibit but Steve sure does not appreciate it in the moment.

“What happened to your face?” Steve asks, feeling desperate.

“He’s… it’s…” Bucky says, looking lost. “Why aren’t you at work?” Bucky asks, glancing at his watch, as if Steve playing hooky from work is the most important thing going on over here.

“Left a little early, seeing as I got such a big promotion today,” Steve says, anger boiling over. “Was it you? You’re trying to send me away?” He feels his voice rising and he registers, somewhat distantly, that the guy holding him is telling him to lighten up, sending one of his daughters to go get zoo security over. Steve can’t believe that he’s going to get arrested for making a scene at the Prospect Park Zoo, but that’s how it goes sometimes.

“Steve, I…” He glances at Salvatore, who puts a hand on his stepson’s shoulder.

“Hey, let’s settle down a bit,” Bucky’s step-dad says. “You’re scaring the otters.” Steve looks down at the animals who are… honestly just sort of laying around like they usually do, but he’s also not an otter expert, so he stops struggling. His step-dad looks at the guy holding him. “It’s fine, he’s a friend of my son’s. We’ll get him out of here.”

“Your problem man, not mine,” the guy says, letting go of Steve. “C’mon girls,” he says, holding out his hands, which his daughters take, then hurrying off towards the red panda and away from the crazy man trying to make his way into the otter exhibit.

“Calmer now?” Salvatore asks with a smile.

“No. Just better at pretending,” Steve says. His throat goes dry. “What happened to your face, Bucky?” Steve asks again, voice cracking.

“I’m getting off in just a few minutes. Steve, how about you go get some Dippin’ Dots and you can walk back home with us.”

“Dad,” Bucky says.

His dad puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You know how your mom and I got through the Great Fight of—“

“I swear to God,” Bucky interrupts.

“2013? Communication,” Salvatore continues.

“I hate you,” Bucky says without heat. He looks at Steve. “There’s hotdogs, if you don’t like Dippin’ Dots.”

“Dippin’ Dots is fine,” Steve says, a little dazed. “Bucky?” he asks.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, voice soft as an otter moves from their rock and dives into the water.

“I’m really glad to see you.”

It takes Bucky a second, but he says, voice thick, “You too, Steve. You too.”

— —

Steve’s just had time to finish up his chocolate chip cookie dough Dippin’ Dots when Bucky and his step father collect him from the tables near the sea lions. “We’re having lasagna tonight,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

“You’re coming to dinner, apparently.” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and shaking his head. “If you want to, that is,” he adds.

“He does,” Salvatore says with conviction and a curt nod. “Someone who jumps into an exhibit of angry otters is not going to say no to lasagna.” 

“I guess I do,” Steve says, standing up and grabbing his empty cup and plastic spoon. “If that’s okay with you,” he adds, looking at Bucky.

Now that he’s up close, Steve takes a second to get a good look at him. Frankly? He looks pretty terrible. He’s got the shiner on the one eye, its bruise spreading to the bridge of his nose. There’s another purpling bruise on the side of his neck to match, as well as a crusty cut on the bottom of his chin. His skin is pale and there’s a kind of sadness etched into his face, radiating from the turn of his frown, his nervous energy. Even his hair looks greasy and he’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, not his usual put together ensemble.

“It’s okay with me,” Bucky says, voice quiet, after a moment or two of thought.

“Then let’s go.”

— —

It doesn’t really occur to Steve that they’ll be at Bucky’s childhood home until they’re walking into one of the units of a slightly ramshackle brownstone on the other side of Prospect Park. The small brick building — not terribly dissimilar from Steve’s own apartment building — sits across the street from the Park, shoved between larger, more beautiful brownstones. It’s the kind of place that a developer would love to sink their claws into and convert into a few very fancy condos, but the units are rent-controlled and therefore inaccessible to vultures.

“Winnie, we’ve got company,” Salvatore says as they walk inside. Salvatore doesn’t wait for the two of them, just kicks off his shoes and heads into the apartment, disappearing from sight. As soon as he’s gone, there’s a blur of blond fur and a big Golden Retriever is at Bucky’s feet, panting up at him and looking adoring. As soon as Bucky scrubs a hand through the dog’s fur, the dog moves to Steve. Steve holds out a hand for the dog to sniff and is subsequently rewarded by a long lick.

“Winnie is my mom,” Bucky whispers, leaning towards Steve. He hasn’t looked Steve in the eye since they left the park and has only spoken when Salvatore prompted him to. Even if he agreed to let Steve come to dinner, it’s pretty obvious that he’s not happy about this turn of events. “And the attention hog is Eggs.” He’s heard a thing or two about Eggs before, but it’s nice to meet her in person.

The door to the apartment opens up into a small living room, a display of framed photographs on one wall and a Winslow Homer print hanging over a well-loved striped couch on the far side of the room. Windows lined with lacy white curtains open up to the street, a table covered in tchotchkes sitting below it. Opposite the windows is an open entrance to the kitchen, which he can’t quite see where he’s standing now.

After Salvatore calls, Steve can hear the clanking of pans from the direction of the kitchen, then footsteps heading towards them. A moment later, a woman emerges from the entrance to the kitchen.

She looks remarkably like Bucky — brown curls tinged with touches of grey here and there, blue eyes shining out from a soft, slightly wrinkled face, and a plump frame. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants and an NYU t-shirt with a hole near the neck, and a yellow apron that says  _ THE KING OF THE GRILL!  _ across the chest in bright red font. “Hi mom,” Bucky says.

“Hi honey,” Winnie says, crossing the room and wrapping an arm around Bucky. She gives him a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. Bucky blushes a little, the first color that Steve’s seen in his face this whole afternoon. “Hi honey. Who is this?” she asks, eyeing Steve like she already has a clue who he may be.

“This is my coworker, Steve,” he says and Winnie’s eyes light up. She looks from Steve to Bucky and back before finally settling on Steve.

“Well come on in, Stevie honey,” she says, beckoning him into the kitchen. He follows, glancing at Bucky, who just shrugs, Eggs following close behind Winnie.

The kitchen is small, lacks counter space. But there are cheerful sunflower-patterned dishes hanging on the wall, and a wooden four-person table that looks old, like a family heirloom. The oven is on, pumping heat out into the little space, and a few bags of salad sitting on the counter next to an unopened bottle of Newman’s Own Italian dressing and a loaf of crusty Italian bread.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Winnie says, a little conspiratorially, as she peeks into the oven door.

“Mom,” Bucky complains.

“You can help me with the lasagna.”

“Oh, um, Mrs. Barnes—“

“Winnie,” she corrects gently.

“Winnie,” Steve says, feeling suddenly nervous. This is Bucky’s  _ mom _ , who Bucky loves more than anyone else in the world, who took her son to KFC when he didn’t want to go to the restaurant she made a reservation at. If they were a normal couple, this would be a momentous sort of thing, the kind of meeting that Steve would lose sleep over. Even if they’re not a normal couple, he still doesn’t want to mess it up, give Winnie a bad impression.

Salvatore is probably a lost cause, given that he just saw Steve try to jump into the otter exhibit at the zoo.

“Would you mind if I talked to Bucky? Just for a few minutes? Then I can come help with the lasagna.”

She glances over Steve’s shoulder to where Bucky is standing, then back to Steve. “Of course. If Jamie wants to let you into his childhood bedroom,” she adds with a smirk and a quick raise of the eyebrows towards Bucky.

Bucky walks over to Steve and grabs his arm. “C’mon,” he says, dragging him not to the childhood bedroom — which Steve would definitely like to see — but to the back door, where they enter into a small but green yard. When he opens the door, Eggs runs out into the yard with them. Bucky rolls his eyes but lets her stay. There are a few potted plants lined up next to the wooden fence and two red recliner lawn chairs sitting on the patio.

He drops Steve’s arm once they’re outside. And he still doesn’t look Steve in the eye, instead watching Eggs as she pees on a small patch of discolored grass.

“Where do you want to start?” Steve asks, knowing no part of this will be easy for either of them.

Bucky shrugs. “Nowhere.” Then, “Are you okay?”

Steve looks at Bucky and wonders how it is that Bucky has it in himself to care about anyone else when he’s being hurt so badly, let alone whether Steve is okay. But he also owes Bucky his honesty, so he says, “I feel really hurt. You dropped off the face of the earth and I was so worried, Buck. And then the promotion thing came out of nowhere and it just…” He trails off, shrugs his shoulders. “It sucked.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, looking down at his shoes.

“What happened?”

Bucky swallows, sighs. “Well, uh. It’s. Alex found my phone.”

Steve’s heart sinks. “What?”

“It was so dumb. He came home early from Beijing all pissed off about something or another, screaming at someone on the phone in Chinese. He um…” He gestures up to his face. “When I wasn’t excited about my ‘brithday gift.’ And after, I was on my phone, I was looking at…” He stops, shaking his head. “Anyhow, he came over, and I just knew he was going to grab the phone, so I tried to get out of the Internet before then, but clicked over to WhatsApp and he…” 

“Bucky?” Steve asks, taking a step closer.

“He choked me,” Bucky says with a kind of rueful laugh. “He’d said he’d kill me before but he never  _ tried _ before. I passed out. I don’t really remember much else.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Steve doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to speak again.

Eggs seems to sense Bucky’s distress and runs over to him, leaning on his legs. Bucky squats down to Eggs’ level and looks into her eyes, stroking her sides. 

“Bucky,” Steve says softly.

“It was dumb,” he repeats, his voice barely audible over Eggs’ slight whine.

He looks up and at Steve. “I’m sorry about the promotion. I’d… I’d had your info saved in my phone as Jasper Sitwell.”

“He was fired today.”

Bucky nods, looking back at Eggs. “I’m sorry about that, but I just wanted to protect you. I could convince Alex that it was Sitwell and that he was just obsessed with me. Still called me all sorts of shit and it fuels his paranoia, but…” He presses his face to Eggs for a second, then pulls up. “I just want you to be protected. If you move to California—”

“I’m not moving,” Steve interrupts. 

Bucky looks up, face pained. “Steve—”

“I’m not. He can get me, I don’t care. I won’t go somewhere you can’t get to.”

Bucky takes a breath, stands back up. Eggs whines louder, then moves to Steve for pats. As much as he hates to leave a Golden Retriever without the attention they deserve, he ignores her. “You shouldn’t count me in your future plans,” Bucky says finally.

“I won’t go.”

They just look at one another for a long moment, then Bucky drops his eyes back down to Eggs. Steve takes another step towards Bucky. “I’m going to—”

He’s interrupted by the door sliding open. Eggs runs right over, hopping in the door and licking Winnie’s yoga pants. “Sorry to interrupt you boys, but can I get a hand in the kitchen?” Winnie asks, looking at Steve. 

“Of course,” Steve says, sparing a glance at Bucky.

“I’m behind you,” Bucky says, sounding tired.

“You take a breather,” Winnie says, patting Bucky on the shoulder as he passes by. “I’ll come grab you when things are ready.”

“I can help.”

“I’ve got more than enough manpower for one night between Steve and Sal.” When Bucky looks like he’s about to say something to the contrary, she just raises her eyebrows. He sighs, then says, “Fine” and walks away towards what Steve assumes is his bedroom.

That’s when Winnie turns around to Steve. “You’re going to put together the salads,” she says.

“Yes ma’am,” Steve says.

She rolls her eyes. “ _ Winnie _ , Steve, please don’t make me ask again.”

“Yes… Winnie,” Steve says, intimidation creeping up by the second. As they make their way to the kitchen — sans Eggs, who decided to follow Bucky — Steve says, “You’re a nurse, right? My mom was, too.”

“Where is she?”

“Maimonides Children's,” Steve says. “She passed away a few years ago.”

She glances over her shoulder at him. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says, not meeting her eyes.

“Maimonides is good, though. I’ve got a girlfriend who works there, Sal’s cousin Sabina, but she just started there last year.” She shakes her head. “I kept telling her to do something easier with her life, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Some people were just born to be nurses,” Steve says. It’s something his mother said at night, when she’d take her shoes off after a long shift, stretching out her toes and sinking into the couch cushions.

“Get the big wooden bowl out of that cabinet, would you?” Winnie says, pointing Steve towards a cabinet. “And a cutting board. I’m going to need you to cut up some carrots. Do you like peas shell on or off?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Anyhow, I wish I were born to be anything but a nurse most days, but I still go to work each day.” She’s cutting the Italian bread up into slices, lining them on an aluminum foil-covered baking sheet. “You born to be a graphic designer?” she asks.

“I wanted to be an artist. Graphic design scratches the itch and actually pays.”

She chuckles, mostly polite, and starts brushing on what Steve suspects is a garlic and butter mixture onto the bread. “Something to be said for practicality, but it only goes so far. Jamie always wanted to work for a charity.”

“What, you don’t consider war crimes a charity?”

That makes Winnie look up. “Now don’t you let Jamie’s husband hear that,” she says, but she’s smiling. Steve can’t help but return it.

“I wouldn’t mind if he did. I don’t think I’ll be there much longer,” he says, heading to the fridge to retrieve a bag of carrots. “How many do you want cut?” he asks.

“Just a few. They’ll need to be peeled, too. Why do you say that?”

“An inkling,” Steve says, shrugging.

“I know Jamie will miss you,” Winnie says, something testing about it.

Steve pauses rummaging around in a drawer for a peeler to look at her. She’s not smiling now and somehow Steve knows that she knows. “I’ll miss him,” he says, voice thick. “Peeler?” 

“The drawer to your right.”

“Thanks.” 

They work in silence for a few minutes, only the sound of the peeler and the gentle clang of the brush against the bowl of garlic audible. As Steve shifts from peeling to cutting, Winnie asks, “So Jamie broke things off with you?”

Steve cuts his finger.

“Fuck,” he says, then looks up at Winnie. “Fudge,” he amends, a drop of blood welling up from the cut and dripping down his hand. 

“I’ve heard it all before, Steve, now give me that,” Winnie directs. She turns on the sink, and holds Steve finger under it to wash the cut, then pulls a first aid kit out from underneath it. They’re quiet until she’s wrapping it up and she says, “Jamie didn’t talk to us for nearly two years. He didn’t invite us to his wedding.”

Steve blinks. “What?” he asks. That doesn’t sound like the Bucky he knows, who loves so deeply and dearly.

“Some nonsense Alex puts in his head. Every so often he just drops off the face of the earth. Can’t get in touch with him. When he comes back he’ll tell us he’s protecting us,” she says, shaking her head. “When he’s the one…” She pauses, huffs out a breath. “I’ve read all of the books, the pamphlets. There’s not a website I haven’t clicked on and I’ve talked to experts. He needs to choose to leave. We can only support him and love him and be there for him and forgive him until then. My first husband...” She trails off, shakes her head. Steve feels dizzy, even though he can’t have lost much blood. “I’m glad he’s had some happiness,” she says, finishing up with the bandaid, and looking up at Steve with a smile. “I don’t have a lollipop for you.”

The change in atmosphere could give Steve whiplash. “I’ll live without one.”

“Good to know.” She lowers her voice. “We do have a chocolate tart for dessert, though.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s Jamie’s favorite,” she says, sagging a little, letting Steve see, for just a moment, how tired she is. Then, “But first I need to get this garlic bread into the oven.”

— —

“Are you really going back?” Steve asks after they’ve finished dinner, even the chocolate tart. It’s getting dim now, the sun almost completely set, and he and Bucky are standing outside of his parents’ apartment on the sidewalk. Eggs is in the window watching them, barking, as if to remind Bucky that she’s there and she’d like for him to come back please. 

Bucky doesn’t meet his eye. “If I don’t…”

“We could find a lawyer tomorrow,” Steve says, quiet.

“I’d have nothing.”

“Sounds like a good place to start,” Steve says, trying his best to smile.

Bucky looks at him for a moment, then reaches out, tracing the line of his Steve’s smile with his index finger. There’s something wistful about his expression. “I don’t think I can.” His voice gets low. “But I want you to know that being with you was the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Steve swallows hard. “It doesn’t need to end,” he says, voice rough. He puts a hand on Bucky’s waist, takes a step closer.

“It’s safer for both of us if it does,” Bucky says. In this light, it’s harder to see his black eye. It blends in with the purple dusk, bathing Bucky in its cold hues. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” He shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t get hurt, either.” He takes a breath. “I’ll rent a car right now, Buck. You and me… we can go anywhere. We’ll send the divorce papers to Alex and we can start somewhere fresh.”

Bucky shakes his head. He closes the space between them and wraps his arms around Steve, buries his head in his chest, and holds him tight. “Call me in twenty years if you’re still single,” he says with a single, sad chuckle.

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve responds, feeling so full of love and so hollow at the same time. He’s never felt so helpless in his life.

“Adorable.”

Steve looks up. He’d been so distracted by the emotional weight of his conversation with Bucky, he’d failed to notice the black town car pulling up to the curb, or the man now standing in front of it.

“Get in the car,” Alexander Pierce says to Bucky, then his eyes flick over to Steve. “And you, get your hands off of my husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> CEO. An entire apple pie. Cabinet reorganization.  
“You’re a bit below my pay grade.”
> 
> Posting February 19.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CEO. An entire apple pie. Cabinet reorganization.
> 
> “You’re a bit below my pay grade.”

“Alex,” Bucky says, blood draining from his face. He looks up at Steve, eyes wide and panicked, then pushes him away with a surprising amount of force. Steve stumbles a few steps back towards the building before he’s able to regain his footing.

“Get in the car,” Pierce orders, voice cold, hands crossed over his chest. While he seems calm, there’s a crack in his usual poised demeanor — corners of his mouth turned down, a vicious gleam in his narrowed eyes. It’s all directed towards Bucky.

“Alex,” Bucky repeats, placating. He’s making himself smaller, shrinking down, as he distances himself from both of them, hands up like he’s committed a crime. “Before I get in the car, I want you to understand what happened here.”

“What is there to understand?” Piece asks, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, of course, the fact that I have now asked you twice to get in the car and you have ignored me each time.”

“He doesn’t need to listen to you,” Steve says, trying to keep himself from raising his voice, but barely able to contain himself. “He doesn’t need to do  _ anything _ .” He turns to Bucky, takes a breath so his voice will be quieter as he says, “We can go back inside. You can think things over. You do not need to get in that car.”

Bucky shakes his head, misery etched on every inch of his beautiful face.

“So how long have the two of you been sleeping together behind my back?” Pierce asks, voice still eerily calm despite his hardened features. He hasn’t moved away from the car, hasn’t even shifted his stance.

“Alex,” Bucky pleads.

“You know, I tried not to be suspicious when you started having those long days at the office, always leaving at the same time your new coworker, Steve Rogers.” His eyes flick to Steve’s for just a moment, then back at Bucky. “And you already know I wasn’t convinced about Jasper Sitwell.” He chuckles, shakes his head from one side to the other. “We both know you have better taste than that.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, voice cracking. “I ended it on my birthday, I swear. It was just a coincidence that Steve ran into us at—“

“Yes, such a coincidence that on the one day I let you out of my sight you run into the man you’ve been sleeping with.” His voice goes harsh, almost biting. The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches.

“I know you have no reason to trust me right now, but it really was a coincidence.” Bucky takes a step towards Pierce, eyes wide and placating. “Nothing happened today.”

“Bucky—” Steve starts but is interrupted.

“You don’t  _ speak _ ,” Pierce barks out, voice rising, dropping his arms to his sides as he turns to Steve. “You don’t say a  _ word _ .”

“What will you do, give me a black eye?” Steve throws back.

Pierce’s attention swings back to Bucky as he takes a menacing step forward. Bucky flinches, steps back. “What kind of  _ lies _ have you been spewing?” he spits.

Bucky’s mouth opens, like he wants to respond, but he closes it again. He just shakes his head.

“What’s going on here?”

Steve looks behind him and sees Salvatore standing in the doorway, cellphone in hand, concerned look on his face as he takes in the dramatic scene in front of him.

“Go back inside, Mr. Bello,” Alex says, not sparing more than a passing glance in his direction.

“Please Buck, let’s go inside now,” Steve says, reaching for Bucky, who moves away, towards the doorway and Salvatore.

“ _ James _ ,” Pierce says in an icy cold voice as Bucky reaches Salvatore, who reaches out for his hand. A flutter of hope starts in Steve’s chest as he thinks, for just a moment, that Bucky will go inside. That he’ll choose to leave Alex here and in his past. That he’ll be free of all of this.

All Bucky has to do is go inside.

“Dad, please go inside,” Bucky says instead, voice quiet but urgent.

Tears fill Steve’s vision.

“Are you okay?” Sal asks, eyes not leaving Bucky’s. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says, forcing a smile. “But I need you to go back inside right now.”

Sal hesitates, then nods. “Alright,” he says, then wraps his arms around Bucky, giving him a tight hug. He whispers something in Bucky’s ear, which Steve can’t hear, but causes Bucky to squeeze his eyes shut for a long moment before pulling back from Sal. “Text us when you get home.”

“I will,” Bucky promises, taking a step back, watching as Sal closes the door, and Steve’s dreams, behind him.

“At least someone is thinking clearly today.” Pierce steps forward, shaking his head as he closes the space between him and Bucky. He wraps an am around Bucky’s shoulders as Bucky curls in on himself again. He starts to speak, voice low and controlled, “I want you to think very clearly about the kind of decisions you’ve been making lately, James. You know that you don’t make the right decisions and you need someone to guide you. You’ve told me so yourself on a number of occasions.” Steve is shaking with rage, seeing Pierce’s hands on Bucky, listening to him spew lies. “You just don’t think things through and get yourself into bad situations, but I’ve always been here to get you out of them. And I always will be. Now let’s go home.”

“Don’t touch him,” Steve says, finally snapping, unable to hear any more. “Get your hands off of him.”

Pierce looks at him like he’d forgotten that he was there. “Lower your voice, Rogers. You’re making a scene in front of my husband’s parent’s home.”

“Bucky, please. It’s not going to get better. He’s going to keep hurting you. He may…” 

_ Kill you. _

His throat chokes up. He can’t bring himself to say the words.

“Those are some powerful accusations.” Pierce smiles at Steve. “If only you had a shred of evidence.”

“Look at his  _ face _ ,” Steve yells, moving forwards, hand curled into a fist, ready to—

But there’s a hand on his chest, firm but gentle, pushing him back.

“Don’t,” Bucky says. “Don’t hurt him.”

“He hurts you,” Steve says, voice raw. He’s cracking up from the inside. “Don’t go.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Bucky says, his blue eyes wet as he smiles at Steve. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t let this be—”

“I’m gonna go now,” Bucky interrupts in a soft voice. “But It’s gonna be okay. Don’t make this worse than it already is.” His eyes are pleading even as he smiles.

“I love you,” Steve says, voice soft, hopefully soft enough that Pierce can’t hear it.

“James, get in the car. I’m losing my patience with all of this.”

“I need you to not contact me again, okay?” Bucky says.

“Bucky, please.”

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Buck.” He’s begging and he knows it. He can’t help it, not when Bucky is slipping through his fingers. Not when the person he loves most in the world is going to disappear, a flame snuffed out. As he looks at Bucky, the black void of hopelessness fills his chest, threatening to suck him inside to the place where there’s no light.

“Bye Steve.”

Pierce has the car door open for Bucky; Steve can only watch as he shoves Bucky inside the car.

And then Pierce looks up at him and, goddamn it,  _ smiles _ .

He won.

He won and he knows it.

“I quit,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice strong when everything in his life has just gone off-kilter. Pierce doesn’t respond, just raises his eyebrows again, like he’s just humoring Steve at this point. “I’m not coming back to work.”

Pierce chuckles. “Talk to HR. You’re a bit below my pay grade.” He slips into the car next to Bucky and their driver takes them away, Steve watching as the car heads north and out of view.

— —

He looks out in the distance for too long, not sure what he’s looking for. Bucky’s made it clear that he’s not leaving, not coming back.

He’s been left before. Peggy left him for a life of adventure. His mother passed away, finally leaving her pain behind. Both times hurt like hell.

This time feels different.

He sits on the edge of the curb, head in his hands, trying to breathe.

It feels like all of the warmth in the world has been sucked away from him. He’s freezing, suddenly, despite the temperature. Bucky warmed him from the inside out; he fueled Steve. And now he’s just gone, and he doesn’t want Steve to talk to him again. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there before there’s a presence beside him, a soft blanket being pulled over his shoulders. Winnie sits down next to him, wrapping an arm around his back, looking at him with pitying eyes that look too much like Bucky’s.

“How can he go back?” Steve asks, the question that he’s never been stupid enough to ask out loud.

Winnie shakes his head. “He thinks it’s more dangerous to leave than stay. It may be. I don’t know.” She sighs. “But he gets to make that choice.”

“I love him,” Steve says, voice cracking.

“So do I,” Winnie says after a deep sigh. “And sometimes that’s all you can do.”

They sit there for a long time. The sky turns to orange, then gets dark. Eventually, Sal calls Winnie from the doorway and tells her she ought to come inside. She looks over at Steve. “Do you want to stay over? I can make up the couch for you, or you could stay in Jamie’s old room.”

Steve shakes his head. “I need to get home.” Get back to his empty bed and his empty life.

She nods. “Alright then. Get home safe and don’t be a stranger.”

He nods, even though both of them know that he will be now that Bucky chose to stay.

_ Now that _ , the selfish voice in Steve’s head says,  _ he didn’t choose me. _

The thought isn’t fair. But, Steve supposes, none of this is.

— —

Steve wakes up the next morning at his usual time, before the crack of dawn, only to realize that he doesn’t have to. He’s quit, he’s done, he never needs to go back to that stupid Manhattan high rise again.

It should fill him with relief, but he feels completely empty as he rolls over in his bed and tries to fall back asleep.

— —

When he wakes up again a few hours later, Steve checks his phone. He has a few missed texts from Wanda, all variations of_ what the fuck?????_ and one from Pietro, just saying _way to go!!!_ with a gif of some TV star dancing in a silly way.

He has nothing from Bucky Barnes.

He gets into the shower and runs the water long and hot, letting it run down his body, little rivulets of soap washing down the drain. Even though his skin is red when he steps out, he didn’t feel a thing.

— —

When he’s dressed and fed, he sits down at the little desk next to his bed and boots up his laptop. While he’d started job searching a few months ago, he’d become so distracted with Bucky that he let all of those trails run cold, so he basically needs to start from scratch, maybe apologize and try to talk about rescheduling interviews he’d cancelled.

Even though it’s the last thing he wants to do, he needs to get something lined up before he runs out of money. That’s what you do when you leave a job: you find a new one, you go through the basic steps of living.

Thank goodness he has a shitty apartment and was overpaid at Insight, or he’d be totally fucked, money-wise.

He spends the morning searching job sites and finding very little that works for him. He’s about to call it a day when he sees a lone listing for a graphic design position at Stark Industries.

It’s worth a shot, he thinks as he writes up a quick cover letter, puts James Barnes down as one of his references, and sends the form out into cyberspace. Meanwhile, he tucks the framed note from Bucky over in the corner of his desk, behind a photo of he and his mother at Coney Island years and years ago. He can’t bring himself to put it in the box beneath his bed.

— —

And time passes.

— —

Steve likes his new CEO more than his old one, but that’s not saying much. 

Steve doesn’t have a personal office at Stark Industries, but he does have a spacious desk in an open office that he shares with about a dozen other designers. It’s not so bad, honestly. His computer faces the wall, so he doesn’t need to worry about people looking over his shoulder all the time, and the other designers are typically pretty quiet and considerate, so they all work well together, and when someone gets noisy, he has a nice pair of noise-cancelling headphones he can slap on to ignore them.

But Tony Stark is hands-on, to say the least, and no pair of noise-cancelling headphones can persuade him not to come over and fiddle with whatever Steve is doing. “What if we… with the yellow…” he says, reaching over Steve to grab his mouse and mess around with something on screen, even though Steve is in the middle of something else.

“That clashes,” Steve says.

“In a good way, or—“

“It’s a bad way,” Steve interrupts, sliding underneath Tony to get his hand back on the mouse. “If we use the green, it also sends the message that this is  _ green _ energy. The different shades are cohesive.”

“But boring. Everyone uses green for their green energy signaling. We’re trying to do green energy that’s  _ cool _ . Save the planet, your wallet, and have everyone in the neighborhood be jealous of your very stylish solar panels.”

“Yup, that’s what we’re trying to do,” Steve says, trying to sneakily steal a glance at the time in the corner of his computer screen. It’s nearly forty-five minutes past when he was planning to go home, but he can’t exactly slip away undetected when the CEO is sitting on the edge of his desk.

Why the CEO is sitting on the edge of Steve’s desk, he still doesn’t know. It seems like Tony Stark should have better things to do than discuss the color scheme for part of a website of one of his very many projects, but apparently Steve happened to sign onto the pet project closest to Tony Stark’s heart. And attention. Which means that it’s not infrequent that Tony Stark shows up at his desk wanting to work on something together, despite Steve being significantly below his pay grade.

Maybe if Tony Stark were somebody other than Tony Stark, Steve would appreciate the personal attention. But as it is, while Steve respects Tony’s work ethic and smarts, he can barely stand him. And he also can’t stand the way that he’ll talk Steve’s ear off for three hours after work is over, then expect him to be on time the next day.

“I see you looking at the clock,” Tony says.

“It’s past my time to leave,” Steve says with a tight smile.

“Oh, this will just take another minute,” Tony says.

Another forty-five minutes later, Steve finally leaves the office. It’s the first week of July and the temperatures have skyrocketed to the point where he almost considers taking a Lyft back to Brooklyn, just to avoid the overheated subway cars, but he finds himself heading towards the station anyway.

Even if his new job isn’t so bad, his daily walks to and from the subway station fill him with dread, bringing him past the Insight Incorporated headquarters twice a day, a monolithic reminder of everything he’s left and lost.

He tried a few different routes, walking to a different station or taking a different line, but every other route adds almost an hour onto his commute time, and fear isn’t enough to make him stay on the subway more than absolutely necessary. So he just walks by as quickly as he can, praying that he doesn’t run into anyone from his old job that he doesn’t want to see. So far, he’s been safe. The one perk of the subway situation is that he and Wanda will often meet up at the station together, then make their way back to Brooklyn for drinks or dinner.

He hates himself for it, but every day he keeps an eye out for Bucky Barnes as he passes by, but he hasn’t seen him.

Today’s no different. He walks past Insight, scanning, like usual, for Bucky or his town car and seeing neither. It’s for the best, he tells himself. He doesn’t even know what he’d say to Bucky if he saw him. It’s been three months with no contact from either side.

Steve thought the ache would lessen, but it hasn’t. It just grows deeper, the same kind of ache he gets in his bones on a cold, wet morning that he can’t seem to shake off.

— —

He gets a text from Sam while he’s at the gym that night.

** _Sam Wilson_ **

Triple B w/ Thor in an hour?

It’s an old phrase they use as a stand-in for beers, burgers, and bitching. He slows the treadmill down so he can respond.

** _Steve Rogers_ **

1.5 hrs? at the gym

** _Sam Wilson_ **

Get swoll. We’ll be waiting.

He’s spent a lot of time at the gym in the past few months, just a way to get his mind off of things and use up whatever free time he’d otherwise spend ruminating. He doesn’t love how his arms are stretching the sleeves of all his shirts, but more than one person has come over asking to touch them – a request to which he typically says no, no matter how flattering it may be.

He finishes up on the treadmill – he always ends his work out with a little cardio, just to really tire himself out – and hits the showers. He gets dressed, pausing in the mirror, just kind of taking a look at his beard. He’s let his hair grow out a bit, a shaggy mane, and added the facial hair, just for a change and challenge to the cloying corporate culture of Insight. Stark Industries can’t be so picky, not when their CEO has the facial hair that Stark has.

He thinks it looks okay, all things considered. 

He gets to the bar and greets both Thor and Sam with hugs, heartened to see that there’s a beer already waiting for him at the table.

“Thanks,” he says, hardly pausing before taking a big gulp.

“That kind of day?” Sam asks, watching Steve drink with raised brows.

“Stark came over for an hour and a half of personal attention this afternoon.”

“Ouch. I’ll get your second round, too.”

“As we should, given that this week is a special one,” Thor says, eyes glowing with the promise of a party.

A party that Steve has already tried squashing several times. “Yeah, the Fourth and all. Got any plans?” he asks, trying to play dumb.

“I was assuming I’d tag along with whatever tomfoolery you happen to get up to that night, birthday boy,” Thor says, nudging Steve’s side and raising his eyebrows.

“I was planning to sit in my apartment alone and eat an entire apple pie, if you’d like to join in on that hot action.”

He’s half-joking, but also… not. He’s just not in the mood to celebrate his birthday this year. He’d rather just enjoy the fact that he has a day off, hit the gym, and catch up on some TV before falling asleep early. Sam would probably call it depression, but Steve calls it getting old.

“We’re going to Helen Cho’s place near the Navy Yard for a cookout, then fireworks over the Bridge. You should come, Thor, it’s gonna be a great group.” Steve watches the foam on top of his beer and does not say anything about his attendance, one way or another. Sam notices. “Steve will be attending,” he decrees.

“Sam—“ Steve starts, but Sam interrupts.

“You’re gonna come out and try, okay? If it’s not vibing, that’s fine and you can go home. But you and I both know that if you spend your birthday alone, you’ll get all melancholy, and you don’t deserve that.”

Chastised but also knowing that Sam’s correct, Steve slumps down a little. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll go.”

“That’s the spirit,” Thor says. “To your birthday,” he adds, raising his glass.

“Another year older, I guess.” He says, clinking his glass against Thor’s, then Sam’s.

“Another wiser.”

“Another year more attractive.” Thor smiles. “That beard suits you, even if you did copy my look.”

Steve runs a hand over the beard and shrugs. “It looks better on me,” he says and his friends laugh, even if Steve’s not sure it’s entirely sincere.

The burgers are nice. The ride home is fine. Everything is okay.

And yet, when he finally gets home that evening, he can’t help but plop down heavily onto the couch, face in his hands.

_ Thirty-two _ .

He never had a crisis when he turned thirty, or anything like that. And all things considered, he’s at a better place than he was when he turned thirty-one a year ago. His job is annoying at times, but he doesn’t feel like he’s actively making the world a worse place every day. He upgraded his apartment, has a separate bedroom and everything. His new landlord, Kevin, is a fun guy, too. And his friends are great, he’s never lonely for friendship.

But he is lonely.

It’s times like this that he wishes his mom were still around to tell him to get his head out of his ass, but also to just sit and be together. Go get some food. Walk to the library. He misses the way she sang off tune in the kitchen and the mandatory hugs she’d give him before bed.

He misses her. He misses having a person.

And that’s when the thoughts about Bucky start sinking in, as they do every night. Each day he does his best to prolong the inevitable. He goes to work, he goes to the gym, he hangs out with friends, he tires himself out with the hopes that tonight will be the night where he won’t lay in his bed for hours, thinking about blue eyes and black bruises. But he’s yet to have a night where he can forget and fall into an easy sleep. Instead he wonders how Bucky is doing. Whether he’s okay. If he’s had a good day, or a bad one, and if he’s been to see the otters at the zoo or ordered dinner to the office.

And he wonders if he can ever forgive himself for letting Bucky get back in the car with Pierce, knowing what Pierce does to him.

“Not today,” Steve mutters, standing up. He grabs his headphones, turns the audiobook he’s been listening to on too loud, then goes to the kitchen cabinets and starts to reorganize them. He only moved in last month but there’s always time to redo everything about your kitchen.

In the end, his cabinets are basically the same as they were when he started, but it killed an hour, and it’s finally for him to slide into bed and try not to think until he falls asleep.

And it’s all fine. Life is  _ fine. _

— —

“Hey birthday boy,” Wanda says, standing outside the entrance to Stark Tower on July 3rd.

“Wanda? Thought we were meeting at the bar,” Steve says, hiking his bag up onto his shoulder.

She shrugs, closes the space between them and gives him a quick hug. “Got off a few minutes early, so I thought I’d come by. Thought we could go to the bar together.”

“Did Natasha ask you to babysit?” Steve asks, eyebrow raised.

Wanda smiles. “I just want to make sure the birthday boy gets to the birthday party.”

“The party starts tomorrow,” Steve says, but they both know it’s a weak argument. Steve was obviously planning on skipping out on the night’s festivities, in favor of spending the night alone in his apartment.

“Party starts wherever I am,” Wanda says, which makes Steve laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get going party girl.” Steve says, slinging an arm around Wanda’s shoulders as they start their way towards the station.

Wanda launches into a story about a date she went on the previous weekend, then asks Steve about the project he’s working on right now at Stark Industries. They don’t talk much about Insight, except for vagueries. It’s written into their initial contract that they aren’t allowed to talk much about work with folks who don’t work at the company anymore, which seems difficult to enforce, but Steve doesn’t push it. Besides, Steve just doesn’t want to know what’s going on, and Wanda seems to know, too, even though he never really told her the reason why he quit.

He appreciates it. He really does. Even when his brain screams at him to ask after certain people, certain things. But it’s better for him if he just doesn’t know — then reality can’t be worse than his imagined fears.

He’s so focused on Wanda that he almost doesn’t notice that they’re passing by Insight. “Looks like you’re home,” he tells Wanda.

“Ha ha,” Wanda says, again saying them as words. “Believe me, I’m glad to be… Oh, there’s Bucky,” she says, smiling and waving to a figure across the street.

Steve looks up, heart pounding, feeling like his lungs are filling with water. 

He’s there. Across the street. Looking at Steve with wide eyes that mirror his own, door to a black town car, maybe the same black town car, open in front of him. A truck barrells down the street, noisy and fuming. Steve expects Bucky to be in the car by the time it passes, but he’s not. He’s still looking. And he keeps looking.

Steve doesn’t really notice that he’s stopped walking until Wanda gives him a little tug. “C’mon, the train will be here any second.”

“I…”

How do you tell your friend that you don’t give a flying fuck if the train is coming? That the train doesn’t fucking matter, not when the entire world just shifted on its axis? How do you tell her that your entire heart is standing across the street and you can’t retrieve it and shove it back into your chest where it belongs, where it will pump your blood for the first time in months?

A hand reaches out out from the car and tugs on Bucky, not as gently as Wanda’s hand tugged Steve.

He wants to run across the street, grab Bucky, and…

And he doesn’t know.

It’s Bucky who breaks the moment. It’s Bucky who gets in the car.

“Nice to see him out and about,” Wanda says.

Steve turns to her, sharp. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t seen him in a while.” She shakes her head. “He quit a few weeks after you did, right after his vacation. There one day, gone the next. Didn’t say goodbye to anyone. We just got an email from Alexander Pierce telling us he was gone.”

“He wouldn’t do that, though.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow. “But he did.”

Steve has to keep himself from shouting, keep himself from telling her, explaining why Bucky wouldn’t quit his job, his one daily release from his prison of a life.

God, he must feel so isolated.

“We need to go or we’ll be late,” Wanda says, tugging his arm again towards the station.

This time, he acquiesces.

But he’s quiet when he gets on the train. It’s okay when they’re standing next to each other in a packed car, but as the car clears along the way to Brooklyn and they sit down, Wanda presses. “You left Insight on pretty bad terms then?” she asks. 

Steve nods, face in his hands. “I guess.”

“Was it Bucky? Did he do something?”

He did everything, but that’s not the point.

“It’s nothing really.”

“Did he—”

“It wasn’t him,” he says, looking up, finally looking Wanda in the eyes. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

She exhales. “I don’t think you’re lying,” she says. “But I don’t think you’re telling the truth, either.”

“It’s complicated.”

She looks across the car. “You liked him a lot?”

“Yeah.”

She hums. “That’s why?”

“I like to think that it was also being part of the military industrial complex, but yeah.” He says, quieter, “I like him a lot.”

She puts an arm around his shoulders and gives him a little squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, but it will be okay.”

— —

And that’s nice to hear.

He isn’t much fun at the bar and is able to beg off early, promising that he just needs a good night’s sleep before coming out tomorrow for the all day birthday shenanigans. He knows that he’ll have fun once he’s out with his friends in the morning, even if the thought of spending all day socializing makes him a little woozy right now.

But when he’s home on the night of July 3rd, phone in hand, he goes to his message chain with Bucky for the first time since the last time he saw him. He types out:

_ You quit your job? _

And erases it.

He types out:

_ Seeing you made my whole body ache. _

And erases it.

Finally, he types out:

_ If you want to leave him, I’m still here. _

And before he can convince himself to erase this one, too, he sends it, whole body filling with regret as he watches the message remain unread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> 32\. A bedroom. July 5th.  
“I’m sorry for bothering you.”
> 
> Posting February 26.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32\. A bedroom. July 5th.
> 
> “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Steve wakes up on his thirty-second birthday filled with dread. Thankfully, he also wakes up on his thirty-second birthday with his two best friends standing in the kitchen with a coffee cake and balloons.

“You’re ridiculous,” he tells Sam and Natasha, grinning as they come round for a hug. “I shouldn’t have given you keys.”

“And a very happy thirty-second birthday to you,” Sam says.

Steve sinks into their hug and shakes his head. “Thanks.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out so weak.

“Maybe a good birthday will make up for a shitty year,” Natasha says.

“I’m scared now.”

“Don’t be. It’ll all be fun.”

“I’m even more scared now.”

— —

He didn’t need to be. They spend the morning hanging out, eating the coffee cake, and taking a leisurely walk in the direction of the Navy Yard. The party is on the roof of Helen’s building, an open space with grills, chairs, and even a patch of grass for folks to sit on. They have a killer view of the Brooklyn Bridge from there, which will be perfect for the fireworks, and access to Helen’s apartment if anyone gets hot and needs to cool down in the AC. The cookout is an all day event, with games and good food — good company, too. It’s just a Fourth of July party that happens to be on his birthday, not an actual birthday party, for which Steve is very grateful. He’s not sure he would have dealt with being the center of attention all day.

Instead, he helps grill hamburgers and huge portobello mushrooms for the non-meat eaters in attendance, then grabs a beer and finds a shady corner to chat with his friends. They’ve got good weather, albeit a little bit steamy, and it’s nice to just be with people he likes, to not to think too hard about his life and where it’s going. Plus, he caught the cute guy he went on that date with last year, M’Baku, giving him the eye a few times and, well. He’s only human. It’s been a while since he’s given anyone a chance, and even if it hurts, he has to give someone else a chance sometime.

He’s about to go make a move when a group of people come hustling out of the building with a big rainbow sheet cake lit with sparklers; they make their way towards Steve singing  _ Happy Birthday _ , joyfully out of tune, their fellow partygoers joining in as they pass.

He can’t help but feel a bit of warmth in his chest as they make their way towards him. Natasha’s there, and Sam, but also Thor and Val, and his old friend Bruce. There are others, too, folks he knows and likes, celebrating with him.

He’s not alone. He has to remember, he’s not alone.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as they approach, but he ignores it, just allowing himself to have the moment, make his wish, and enjoy some cake with his friends.

As he blows out his candles, he makes a wish that won’t come true. 

But hey, it’s worth a shot, right?

It’s just as the first fireworks are setting off over the Brooklyn Bridge that Steve remembers the call he got and checks his phone. There are some text messages from friends, work associates, and even from Tony Stark, who just sent a very tasteless shirtless man with American flag pasties over his nipples holding a banner that says, “Happy birthday Steve.”

Though he’s only known Tony Stark for a few months, he knows him well enough to know that he hired a model just to make this image, and that it will haunt Steve until death.

But there’s also a text, a missed call, and a voice mail, all from the same unknown number, all from the past twenty minutes, or so. He checks the text first.

**(212) 555-1003**

Hi, this is Bucky. Please pick up.

He blinks and a firework starts popping overhead. As he’s reading, another text pops up.

**(212) 555-1003**

I’m sorry for bothering you. Hope you have a nice night. Happy birthday!

He doesn’t hesitate, just dials the number without reading the other messages messages he’s gotten or listening to the voicemail. The fireworks boom behind him in cascades of red, white, and blue, and there’s various oohs and ahhs from the crowd.

Bucky picks up on the second ring. “Bucky, hi, I hadn’t been checking my phone.”

There’s a moment of pause, hesitation on the other end of the line. “Steve, hi,” Bucky says, finally, voice cracking. “I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve interrupts.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, as if it’s justification for his apology. “Happy birthday.”

Something tightens in Steve’s chest. “Thank you.”

“I… I was… I’m at your apartment, actually.”

Steve blinks as a particularly big willow firework goes off. “My apartment?”

“I’m sorry, I just… I thought…” He sounds upset, Steve can hear it in the way his voice shakes.

“I’m out right now, but I can meet you there.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I’d like to.” He pauses. “Wait, are you in Park Slope?”

“Yeah.”

A few fireworks go at once, raining down in purple, green, and gold. They’re so loud Steve can barely hear himself speak. “I moved,” he says. “I’ll… it’s not far, I’ll meet you at the old place.”

“You don’t need to,” Bucky repeats.

“I’ll be there in a half hour, or, I’ll… I’ll get there as soon as I can. You stay there, Buck, okay?”

“I…” Bucky trails off, then says, somewhat defeated, “Okay.”

Steve sets down his beer and walks over to where Natasha watches the fireworks, leaning on the apartment wall. Sam’s nearby, drinking beers with Thor and Wanda, but Natasha stands alone. “I have to go,” he tells her.

She blinks. “What?” She looks up to the sky, where a white firework crinkles. “There’s another forty minutes of fireworks.”

“I need to… It’s Bucky.”

Her gaze snaps from the fireworks to Steve; she shakes her head. “Steve, don’t,” she says, voice level.

“If I don’t…” He pauses, swallows. “If he’s trying, even if it doesn’t happen, but if he’s trying to leave, Nat, I need to be there.” He made a promise, made it twice now. It doesn’t matter if it ends with Bucky going back to Pierce. Every step he takes, Steve wants to be there as a resource and an ally. Winnie told him:  _ We can only support him and love him and be there for him and forgive him _ . And he wants to live by that, too.

“You have just as much a right to not be hurt. And you’ve been hurt, Steve. Bucky hurt you.”

“It’s not his fault,” Steve says, an automatic reflex as another firework pops off. “It’s not, Natasha.”

“I know and I’m not blaming him,” she says, continuing to keep her voice level, even if the corner of her lip twitches. “I’m just trying to look out for you. Someone has to keep your best interest in mind.”

“And you think I don’t?” She raises an eyebrow and he laughs. “That’s fair.”

“He came into your life like a wrecking ball.”

“Thanks Miley,” he says, then on a more serious note. “He makes it so much better, Natasha. You have to believe me.”

She hesitates for a moment, then wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. “Happy birthday,” she says, almost so quiet that he can’t hear her above the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the crowd as the latest fireworks go off, each with a bang.

He smiles and presses a kiss to her red hair. “Thank you,” he tells her, sincerely, then pulls away and heads into the building so he can leave.

So he can head towards Bucky.

So he can head towards home.

Despite the worry and fear gurgling in his stomach, he feels light for the first time in months.

— —

Steve finds Bucky sitting on the stoop of Steve’s old apartment, wrapped up in his black peacoat despite the heat. He’s hunched over, the very picture of misery, and doesn’t look up as Steve approaches. But even just seeing him there fills Steve with relief — it’s enough just to know that he’s in one piece and will be safe, even if it’s just for a little while.

“Bucky?” Steve asks once he’s standing in front of Bucky. His own name finally makes Bucky look up.

He looks ill.

“Hi,” he says, scrambling to stand back up and nearly losing balance in the process. Steve reaches out to steady him, but Bucky manages without him, so Steve’s hand just hovers in air, useless and awkward.

Just seeing him standing there, Steve can tell that he doesn’t fill out the peacoat in the same way he did a few months ago. The rings under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin paler in the July night. Even his cheekbones seem to stick out further from his face, and his hair looks unwashed, unkempt. “I’m sorry to—”

“It’s no problem,” Steve says for what feels like the hundredth time. But he’ll keep saying it. “Let me get us a ride over to my place,” he adds, mostly because he doesn’t want to make Bucky exert the energy of a thirty minute walk when it looks like he could topple over at any instant.

“Okay,” Bucky responds, looking down at his feet.

Thankfully there’s a car just a few minutes away, so it’s not a long wait. Bucky’s quiet, looking, frankly, a little woozy as he stands there next to Steve. “You can sit down,” Steve offers, voice gentle, but Bucky just shakes his head. 

“I’m fine,” he says.

Their Lyft driver’s red Mazda pulls up to the curb a few silent, awkward minutes later, and Steve opens the door for Bucky, who slides inside. Thankfully, their driver isn’t interested in chatting as they make their way out of Park Slope and into Prospect Heights, opting instead to hum along to an old Hank Williams song he’s got playing on the stereo.

“When did you move?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet, a few minutes into the drive. It almost surprises Steve, who had been in his head.

“A month ago.”

He nods. “Why?”

Steve shrugs. “Thought it was time to graduate from a studio, I guess.”

“Got a bedroom now?” 

“Living like a king.”

Bucky cracks a small smile, though he still won’t make eye contact with Steve. “That’s good,” he says though, and then quieter, “That’s good.”

Steve wants to keep him talking, but isn’t sure what exactly he can say. Bucky fades off, looking out the window at the brownstones and storefronts they’re passing. He doesn’t have anything with him, Steve notices, no go bag. Maybe he’s not planning to stay for long. As much as he wants to be an even momentary haven for Bucky, the thought of him going back still makes a lump well up in the back of Steve’s throat.

It’s only a few more minutes before the Mazda pulls up in front of Steve’s new place.

It’s not so different from his old one, just a small building split into smaller apartments. He’s still on the first floor; though, the building itself is a few decades newer than his old one, so it doesn’t smell quite so bad. As Bucky gets out of the car, he pauses to look at it. “Still not the penthouse,” Steve says with a shrug as he fishes his keys out of his back pocket.

“Penthouses are overrated,” Bucky says, watching as Steve opens the door and heads inside. They pass the mailboxes without comment — though all Steve wants is for Bucky to ask him if he can get the mail again — then head into the hallway. He’s a bit further down than he was at his last place, and Bucky follows behind him, silent, his soft footsteps, the hum of the AC, and the faint thumps of fireworks in the distance their only soundtrack.

“It’s still not much,” Steve says, just to say something.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, voice soft. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder for just a second, a fleeting but grounding touch that makes Steve want to whirl around and take Bucky into his arms and hold him tight, not let go.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to do right now, not really, but he does know that grabbing Bucky and demanding that he stay isn’t the answer.

He gets the apartment door open and holds it out for Bucky, who enters the dark room before Steve can flick on the light. When he does, Bucky slips off his shoes and takes a step away from the door onto the carpet, surveying his surroundings for just a second before his eyes catch on the laptop sitting on Steve’s coffee table. “Can I use your computer?” he asks.

Steve blinks in surprise. He’s not sure what he expected Bucky to say, but it sure wasn’t that. “Of course,” he says, gesturing over to the computer. Bucky turns for it and Steve says, “I’ll have to…” He trails off as Bucky’s head snaps back over to him. “I’ll just have to put in the password,” he says, passing Bucky on his way to the computer. He sits on the couch, grabs the laptop, and types in his password as Bucky sits next to him, far enough that they don’t touch. “Here,” Steve says, passing the laptop over to Bucky, who accepts it with a quiet thank you.

Bucky pulls a black oblong object out of his coat pocket, unwinds a cable from it. He plugs it into the computer and a small blue light on the object pops on. It looks like an external harddrive, maybe. Steve’s not sure. “This will take a little while,” Bucky says, looking up at Steve.

“Okay.” Steve watches him for a minute, but Bucky doesn’t look up from the computer screen. “Can I get you anything?” 

That makes Bucky look up. “What?” he asks.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? I’ve got a coffee cake from earlier, or I could order some pizza, or…” 

“I’m… I could…” He pauses, clears his throat. “I could use a glass of water, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing,” Steve says, jumping up off the couch, grateful for a task. Bucky flinches just a little at the sudden movement and Steve’s entire heart sinks down to his feet. “I’m…” he starts, unsure of what even to say.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, more aware of Steve’s distress than his own, even as the blood’s drained from his pale face.

“No, no, I’m… I’ll get your water, okay?” Steve says.

“Sure,” Bucky says, his voice very soft as his focuses his attention back at the computer.

Steve goes to the kitchen, grabs a glass and fills it with water from the Brita pitcher in his fridge, then brings it back to the table and sets it down in front of Bucky. “No food?” he asks, unable to keep himself from inspecting Bucky’s thinner frame.

“Have you eaten?” Bucky asks.

Even though he has, Steve shakes his head. A little white lie can’t hurt here. “Not really. I could eat.”

“If you’re eating.”

It actually takes him a few minutes to figure out a place that will take an order. Little did he know that the Fourth of July was such an important day for the pizza industry. He can’t get anyone to agree to a delivery, but he finds a pizza place pretty nearby with decent reviews that can have his food ready in a half hour. Even though he doesn’t want to leave Bucky alone, even just to walk to and from the restaurant, he agrees, and lets Bucky know where he’s going and when he’ll be back. He promises that he’ll bring his cell phone, and that Bucky shouldn’t hesitate to call him if he needs anything.

Bucky nods, an acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything else, just types, fingers flying over Steve’s keyboard.

Steve watches him for a long moment, then goes out for the food.

— —

Going out shouldn’t feel like as much of a relief as it is. The night air — now pleasantly warm, humidity disappearing along with the sun — feels good on his skin, and as he walks through his neighborhood, he can hear the sound of parties and people, everyone getting together to celebrate the holiday. As he walks underneath the striped awning of the pizza shop, he almost wishes his walk were a little longer.

The shop itself is a whirl of frenzied action. It seems like they’ve got almost too many staff members behind the counter, yelling at each other, pulling steaming pies out of an industrial-size oven, and answering phones. Still, Steve gets their pizza, salad, and breadsticks without any fuss, then carries them back home.

He hesitates before opening the apartment door, half-convinced that Bucky won’t be in there when he walks inside. It takes what little nerve he has left to open the door; relief floods him when he finds Bucky sitting in the same place he was when Steve left. Even the glass of water sits untouched on the table. “Food’s here,” Steve says, unnecessarily.

Bucky looks up. “Great.” He pauses. “I just… this will be a little while longer.”

“No pressure,” Steve adds, setting things down on the little kitchen table he has stationed between the living room and kitchen. He busies himself, pulling out plates and silverware, then nibbles on a piece of pizza even though he’s not hungry. A half hour passes, then an hour. Steve checks his phone — he’s got messages from a few of his friends, asking why he left early, if everything is okay. He ignores most of those, but responds to Natasha, telling her that everything is fine and that he’ll be in touch tomorrow.

He also shoots off an email to work, letting them know that he’ll be taking a sick day tomorrow. It’s the first time off he’s asked for since starting, so he doesn’t feel  _ too _ guilty that he’s doing it without any advance notice. Besides, he’s sure he’ll be one of many; though, most of the others will be sleeping off a 5th of July hangover instead of doing… whatever it is that Steve’s doing.

He waits up as long as he can, but eventually he starts yawning, his eyes start drooping. Just after one o’clock he stands up. “Want me to leave this out or wrap it up for tomorrow?” 

Bucky looks up again, blinks, then looks at the clock on Steve’s wall. “Could you… if you don’t mind, could you leave it out? I don’t think this will be much…” He looks back down at the computer and frowns.

“What are you working on?” Steve asks, unable to keep his curiosity constrained any longer.

“It’s…” Bucky says, voice cracking. He shakes his head. “I just… after, I’ll tell you after, okay?” He looks up at Steve with wide eyes, and Steve can see how he’s barely keeping it together as it is. He’s had those moments, the ones where any distraction seems like it could be too much, like it could undo whatever gentle balance is left of your sanity. So he nods and smiles, then heads into the bedroom to change into his pajamas. He changes his sheets, too, just so he has something to do, and because he wants Bucky to have someplace clean and safe to stay if he’s staying the night. Steve will take the couch.

But even that doesn’t take long enough; nothing seems to take long enough.

He walks back into the living room, ready to offer Bucky some pajamas when he finds Bucky with his hands finally off of the keyboard, eyes just staring at the screen.

“Buck?” he asks. “Are you okay?” which is a stupid question, because Bucky hasn’t been okay the entire evening. Frankly, he hasn’t been okay the entire time they’ve known each other.

Bucky takes a breath, then looks up at Steve. And he bursts into tears. 

Steve’s at his side in a flash, taking the computer off of his lap and setting it on the table, then taking his hands in his, all the while muttering stupid nothings, “It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.”

“It is,” Bucky says. “I know, it is, I…” He trails off, moving his hands out of Steve’s grip to cover his face as he cries. It makes Steve’s heart fall. “Can I… I’ll explain in the morning, I promise. But can I go to bed?”

“Of course,” Steve says. “Bedroom’s all ready for you. You can grab whatever pajamas you need from the dresser.” For a moment, it looks like Bucky will protest, but Steve just shakes his head. “You’ve had a hard night, okay? Get some sleep. I’ll be out here.”

“I…” Bucky starts, then trails off. A few shiny tears slip down his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, instead.

“You’re welcome.” He doesn’t reach out to run a hand through Bucky’s hair, but God, he wants to. He smiles though, feeling the fondness and pain on his own face. “There’s a fresh toothbrush in the cabinet next to the sink, too.”

“Thanks,” he repeats, shakily standing up from the couch. His eyes stray over to the food for a moment, but it seems like his need to sleep wins out, though Steve makes a mental note to make a big breakfast in the morning.

He goes into Steve’s one bedroom and closes the door. Soon after, the lights go out, and Steve can hear Bucky’s faint snores through the wall. Steve may be alone on the couch, but he doesn’t mind, not when he can hear Bucky safe and sound, so nearby.

It’s the best birthday present he could’ve gotten.

— —

Steve wakes up late on the morning of July 5th.

The sun streams in through the cheap apartment blinds, light falling on him like zebra stripes, dark and bright in turn. He groans and stretches, knocking the last of the pillows off of the couch, which is probably a little too short for him to sleep on without getting a crick in his neck. Looking below him, he sees a whole pile of blankets and pillows strewn about floor; he’s not a gentle sleeper.

He grabs his phone on the coffee table and sees that it’s just past nine — a far cry from his usual 6am wake up. It’s probably good for him, though, and better for Bucky. He’s got a few text messages from friends that he ignores, opting instead to take a quick shower and prep a good breakfast for Bucky.

He makes a quiche. And pancakes. He doesn’t know if Bucky will want sweet or savory and he doesn’t want to wake him up to ask, but he does want to be prepared for either option. Besides, it’s a good way to distract himself as he waits for Bucky to wake up. Cooking keeps his hands busy and his mind clear.

Around ten, he does open the bedroom door just a bit, just wanting to see if Bucky’s doing okay (and, frankly, if he’s still breathing).

He is, softly drooling onto one of Steve’s pillows.

Good. He needs the rest.

— —

At noon, Steve picks his phone back up and… sees that he’s really racked up the texts and calls, maybe more than he’s ever gotten at one time. Confused, he unlocks the screen and starts with a message he got from Wanda a few minutes ago.

_ Looks like I’m out of a job. _

The next message is an article from CNN with the headline: 

_ Former Bush Administration Official arrested on suspicion of foreign activity _

Finger shaking, Steve presses the link. 

> Former Director of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, Alexander Pierce, was arrested this morning on suspicion of foreign activity. Pierce, 70, currently runs Insight Incorporated, a global security equipment firm that boasts several lucrative government contracts.
> 
> Federal Bureau of Investigation officials stated that Pierce’s frequent unauthorized travel overseas put him on the agency’s radar but they did not have enough evidence to arrest until last night, when they recieved personal communications between Pierce and several highranking Chinese and North Korean officials. The FBI will hold an afternoon press conference where they will field further questions about Director Pierce’s arrest.
> 
> ** _This is a breaking story. We will update as more information becomes available._ **
> 
> VIDEO: Former Defense Threat Reduction Agency Director Alexander Pierce arrested in Manhattan

Steve stares at the screen, reading the article at least twice before any of the words actually stick with him.

Another text comes in, this time from Sam:

_ How’s Bucky taking it? _

Steve drops his phone onto the couch cushions and skids over to the bedroom, heart pounding.

How do you tell someone that their husband’s just been arrested?

He takes a breath and opens the door, slow, so it doesn’t startle Bucky. But he lets the light filter in, illuminating Bucky like he’s a baroque painting — all lights and shadows, the fabric of his blankets enticingly curled around his half-naked form. He’s a saint painted by Carravaggio, too beautiful to touch, something not of this earth.

Steve hates to wake him, but knows he has to. There are people who Bucky will need to get in touch with. There are statements Bucky will have to make. And he can’t do any of that while he’s dreaming.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. Bucky stirs, but doesn’t wake, grumbling as shies away from the light. Steve walks over to the edge of the bed and sits down. He puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder and as he says his name again, Bucky’s eyes open in a flash. “Hey, good m—”

“What time is it?” Bucky interrupts.

Steve blinks. “A little after noon. Bucky, I have some news. I—”

“Is it done?” Bucky interrupts.

“What?”

“Alex? Has he been…” He trails off, looking at Steve with wide eyes.

“Arrested?” Steve suggests. Bucky swallows hard. “Yeah Buck, he has.”

Bucky shuts his eyes, lets himself fall back on the pillows. “Oh my God,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause, then Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh. “It’s all over.” Eyes still closed, his lips spread into a smile. “It’s  _ done _ .” He opens his eyes and looks at Steve. “I’m great.” Joy radiates from him. He still looks exhausted, but he’s  _ grinning _ , all of the tenseness of his shoulders from the night before loosened, his whole presence sunshine.

“What happened? Did you know?” 

Bucky nods. “I kind of… I guess I orchestrated the whole thing,” he says, a strange kind of laughter bubbling up from him. 

“What?” Steve asks, unable to keep himself from matching Bucky’s smile.

“Can you…” Bucky asks, scooting over as he tugs on Steve’s arm. Getting the hint, Steve lays down next to him. They’re very close. Steve can feel Bucky’s breath on his lips.

When they’re settled, Bucky says, “There was a night a few weeks ago, where he… We got into a bit of a fight.” He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “After, he had to run somewhere. His laptop was open and I thought… I guess it was kind of suicidal, but I thought I would look through it, since he looked through my phone. An eye for an eye, and all. And I found… so much Steve, so much stuff. It wasn’t even encrypted, it was like he was trying to get caught.

“I got as much of it as I could on a flash drive I found on Alex’s desk and got in touch with the FBI. Turns out, they’d been eyeing him because of all of his trips to China. As a government contractor, he needed to have all that travel okay’ed, but he never did, because he knew none of it would get approved and he’d get away with it because he’s, well, him. But they needed more and I couldn’t get it until yesterday, and that’s why I came here to use your computer. The libraries were all closed.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve says.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, voice breaking, his joyful countenance shattering like glass.

“For what?” Steve asks, aching to reach out and reassure with his touch.

“Leaving. Going back. All of it? I don’t know.” He huffs out a breath. “I think I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done.”

“You’re here now,” Steve says. “And you just… Wow, Buck, you just helped your husband get arrested by the FBI. That’s kinda big.”

He blinks. “I did,” he says, then starts to laugh again, this time with a little manic intensity. “God,” he says, shaking his head. “If I could tell myself at eighteen what would happen…” He stops laughing, somewhat abrupt, his face falling. “God,” he repeats.

“Hungry?” Steve asks after a moment of quiet. 

“Yeah.” 

“What do you want? I’ll make you anything, get you anything.” He doesn’t care that he already cooked — leftovers are fine, or he’ll run out for something. He just wants Bucky to get whatever he wants. You’re entitled to something a little special when you get your husband arrested by the FBI.

Bucky blinks, another tear slipping from his eye as he asks,

“Gnocchi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Narratives. Chicken dinner. Last Thanksgiving.  
“So, are you single?”
> 
> Posting March 2.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narratives. Chicken dinner. Last Thanksgiving.
> 
> “So, are you single?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't responded to everyone's comments on Chapter 14 yet! Both my dog and I have been sick, so it's been a fun week.

It takes time, but the best things do.

— —

“So, are you single?” Bucky asks on Saturday night. They’re standing in Steve’s bedroom, Steve picking out some pajamas for himself out of the dresser. He straightens up and looks over at Bucky, whose tone is light but whose eyes betray a vulnerable hunger, the same hunger reflected in Steve’s eyes.

It’s been a weird couple days since Pierce’s arrest, Bucky setting up camp at the kitchen table to call his lawyers and figure out what he’s going to say to the press, which thankfully haven’t found where Bucky is staying. But Bucky is here. Bucky is  _ staying _ . And for that, Steve is so grateful.

“What?” he asks out of surprise; it’s not the question that he expected to hear.

“You haven’t…”  _ Touched him. Kissed him. Loved him. _ “So I wanted to know if you…”

“Oh,” Steve says, something like relief filling him. “You’ve had a rough couple of days. I didn’t want to, you know, put the moves on you when you were stressed or if you didn’t...”  _ Want me anymore _ .

“Put the moves on me?” Bucky asks, cracking a little smile as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“I think I told you that you’d know if I were seducing you.”

“The you  _ not  _ seducing me is the issue,” Bucky says, face falling a moment later. “Not that I… If you’re with someone, or if you don’t want to, I’d understand, I—”

And Steve can’t have the look of insecurity on Bucky’s face as he stammers over his words. He drops his pajamas on the floor, crosses the room in a few decisive steps, and wraps his arms around Bucky. Steve looks him dead in the eye and says, “I love you. I’ve loved you every day when we were apart. And I’ll love you every day until you tell me to stop.”

“I’ll never want you to stop,” he says, voice small but eyes wide. Tentatively, he wraps his arms around Steve and squeezes tight, letting his head rest in the crook of Steve’s shoulder. A part of Steve that’s been tense for the past three months relaxes for the first time. It’s like he’s regrown a limb. “It’s not going to be easy,” he says.

“I know.”

“I’m pretty fucked up right now.” His voice is muffled, breath hot against Steve’s skin.

“So’m I,” Steve says. “You like me regardless.”

Bucky is quiet for a moment, then pulls away but not apart, looking up at Steve with teary eyes and a big smile. “Well, I’ll be divorced pretty soon, so if you wanna be my boyfriend...”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Steve says, emphatic, kissing Bucky before dragging him down with him onto the bed, just to kiss him, look at him. He can’t stop smiling.

— —

The abuse is never a part of the narrative.

They’re sitting at the kitchen table in Steve’s apartment the next week. More news comes out each day about Pierce and his overseas dealings, about the evidence given to the authorities by an anonymous source close to Pierce that many people in the media (and on Twitter) speculate is Bucky. Who else could it be? Who else would have gotten so close?

Bucky’s called a lot of names. People say he’s a traitor to his husband and to his country, a golddigger, a mole. Conservative pundits drone on about Bucky’s orchestrating some kind of master plan to take down a Republican icon, as if that’s the whole reason Bucky ever married him, just to get him arrested for crimes he did commit.

No one talks about the bruises. No one talks about the way Bucky flinches when someone approaches him too quickly. No one talks about the fact that a old man with power tried to run and ruin this young, promising man’s life.

No one even talks about Bucky the way he is right now, his bright smile and caring personality. They don’t care that Bucky reached out to Steve first when he was covered in coffee, making sure this stranger wasn’t hurt. They don’t care that he was a good employee and a better manager. They don’t care about  _ Bucky _ , especially when he doesn’t fit the narrative they’ve crafted around him.

There are other voices, too, softer ones that call Bucky a hero, but they’re easily outshouted by the rest of them, the ones who don’t know the half of it. It doesn’t help that Bucky’s been trained for years now to listen to the negative voices, and  _ only _ the negative voices, when they’re talking about him.

There’s not much Steve can do to combat the narrative, but he can hold Bucky, so he does.

— —

Bucky, for his part, basically moves in with Steve after the Fourth. They never have a real conversation about it; once Bucky walked through the doorway of Steve’s apartment, he never really left. Steve loves it, waking up every morning with Bucky Barnes in his bed. He’d like it even more if he didn’t have to go to work, if he could just stay home all day and trace lines onto Bucky’s bare back, but someone has to bring in an income, so he treks over to Stark Tower every weekday with a new kind of happiness.

More than one coworker notices. One asks him who his dealer is. Steve tells him that it’s his landlord, Kevin. 

Bucky tells Steve that he’ll “earn his keep” and tries to have food on the table by the time Steve gets home each night, even though he has nothing he needs to do to have a place to stay with Steve. He makes a tuna casserole one night — then is the one to go pick up the pizza after they each try a bite — salmon another. One night he bakes a cake with fluffy white frosting topped with raspberries and blueberries. 

“What’s this for?” Steve asks.

“Your birthday. I kind of ruined it.”

“It was my best birthday ever,” he says, honestly, even though Bucky doesn’t believe him. But it’s true. Turning thirty-two felt a whole lot sweeter with Bucky nearby.

— —

One night, about two weeks after Pierce’s arrest, Steve comes home just as Bucky’s pulling some chicken out of the oven. “Hi,” he says with a smile as Steve walks inside. “It’s chicken.” He shrugs.

“I like chicken.” Steve crosses the room to put his work bag in his closet.

“I make no promises that you’ll like  _ this _ chicken,” he says and well, the chicken does look a little burnt, but Steve’s eaten worse.

They sit down to eat — Bucky also put together some green beans and potatoes — just as Steve’s phone gets a news notification. Against his better judgment, he picks it up:

_ Alexander Pierce’s former coworker: “This is a witch hunt” _

The chicken turns to ash in his mouth.

“More bullshit?” Bucky asks.

“More bullshit,” Steve agrees, setting his phone face down on the table without bothering to read the article. They all start to sound the same after a while. “Everyone seems to think he’s some kind of angel.”

“They’re all lying,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Most of the people who really know him know he’s an asshole.” Steve’s eyes flick up to Bucky’s but Bucky just shakes his head. “No, I won’t.”

“Why not?” Steve asks. “You could change the narrative.”

“It doesn’t really matter.” Bucky shrugs and frowns, staring at the chicken, poking at it with his fork. “This could use some barbeque sauce,” he adds, making like he’s about to stand up.

“Bucky, Buck,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky’s hand and looking up at him before he can get up. “I just… Yes, all of the stuff he did overseas was stupid and illegal. And he should be in jail for that. But that doesn’t mean that what he did to you doesn’t count. He hurt you. He violated you. Bucky, you deserve your day in court. He deserves to go to jail for what he did to  _ you _ .”

Bucky swallows hard. He keeps a straight face, but the very bottom of his jaw trembles just a little. “He’ll be in jail and away from me for a while, hopefully forever. That’s the important thing.” He gives Steve’s hand a reassuring squeeze, like Steve’s the one who needs to be comforted here.

Steve can’t force him to talk about the abuse publicly and he knows that. Even going behind Bucky’s back to plant rumors about it in the media would be a violation of the delicate trust he’s built with Bucky over the past few years. But it haunts Steve, knowing what Pierce did to Bucky, and it will continue to haunt Steve. He just keeps thinking about all of the young men out there who Pierce may sink his claws into and try to manipulate once he and Bucky are divorced.

“I know it’s not perfect,” Bucky continues. “I know it’s… but think about how it looks. I’m not a perfect victim.” His eyes are wide and not meeting Steve’s, his voice soft and quick as he explains, “Do you think they’re going to listen to me? Do you think a jury will look at me and see me as anything more than a golddigger, trying my best to get a bigger cut of my ex-husband’s bank account? I don’t have enough evidence. I don’t have any political clout. The only thing I can do is to get that man locked away as long as I can for whatever I can get him locked away for.”

“They’ll believe you,” he says, but his voice comes out weak. He can’t even convince himself. In a perfect world, they’d believe him. But Bucky’s right — James Barnes, the hot, broke twenty-two year old with daddy issues who married someone three times his age, does not make for a perfect victim. And even the perfect victims don’t get their day in court. Even the perfect victims have their lives ruined by leveraging an accusation against a powerful man. Even the perfect victims never get the justice they deserve. They live in a fucked up world. Steve’s known that his whole life, but it hits harder when he sees the tension in Bucky’s shoulders, weighed down like Atlas.

Bucky shakes his head, mouth twisting into a pained smile. He speaks quickly, eyes flicking from Steve, down to the chicken, and back. “He’ll be in jail. He’ll be locked away. And if he survives that, he’ll be spending most of his time at the summer house in Utah so people will leave him alone, or in DC. His lawyers promised me that he’ll never be in the same state as me again, as long as I stay quiet. And I know how that sounds, Steve, I do, but if this is what I can get, I’ll take it. I don’t need my day in court. I don’t need to go up there and say everything and let the world look in and judge me and tell me that it didn’t happen.”

“That doesn’t matter to you?” Steve asks.

“In a perfect world it would matter.” Bucky shakes his head. “But we don’t live in that world.” He pauses, looks down at their intertwined hands. “I just want to live as much as I can, okay? He’s already stolen nearly a decade of my life. I don’t want to give him anything else. I don’t want to give  _ anyone _ anything else. I just want to live for me from now on.”

He smiles, but it breaks Steve’s heart.

“You don’t have to give him anything else,” Steve says.

Bucky exhales deeply. “I won’t.”

— —

“I’m going to see my parents tomorrow,” Bucky announces one night a few weeks later.

They’ve just gotten into bed, Steve pulling out the library book he’s been reading for the past few nights off of the night stand. He sets it down, spine up, on his chest, even though he can distinctly remember a middle school librarian telling him to never do that to his books. “Are you?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. He’s wearing soft sleep clothes and staring up at the ceiling. He’s bought a few things of his own since he moved in, but won’t be able to take anything from his apartment for a while. “I promised my mom I wouldn’t disappear again, but I… I haven’t seen her since that night. Alex told me that didn’t want me to go back in case we’d run into each other again, but I think he just wanted an excuse to give me an ultimatium about seeing them at all. He’s never liked them.” He sighs. “So I haven’t seen her at all. I just feel ashamed.” He sounds miserable.

“You don’t need to be ashamed.”

“I’m ashamed of just about everything.”

Steve moves his book from his chest to the bedside table and snuggles in closer to Bucky, wrapping an arm around his torso and shutting his eyes. “You don’t need to be. She loves you. Salvatore loves you. It’ll be fine.”

“The logical part of me tells me that’s true,” Bucky says, referencing one of the methods his new therapist is teaching him about how to handle his emotions. “But the shame part of me is speaking louder.”

“Can you ask the shame part to step aside for a while?” Steve asks, parroting the language Bucky used to describe the process to Steve.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Should’ve never let you in on that.”

“Probably not.”

“I’m just scared.”

“That’s fair, and that’s okay.”

“It’s not like… she’s the one who gave me the money for the burner phone I called you on. No questions asked.” 

Pierce only let Bucky use his iPhone when they were in the same room with him, made him change the passcode so Pierce could see everything he did on it.

Steve was stupid, sending that message to Bucky the day before his birthday. If Bucky hadn’t been on his phone and able to delete it immediately, Steve could’ve gotten Bucky into all sorts of trouble, the kind of trouble Steve doesn’t want to think about.

But he also can’t regret sending that message, not when it gave Bucky the final push he needed to get out, knowing he had a place to go that Pierce wouldn’t find him.

That night, he called Winnie, talking to her for the first time in three months to ask her for $500, enough to get a burner phone, a hotel room, food, and a way to get out of town, if he needed one. She hadn’t asked any questions, just sent him a Visa giftcard by courrier that he could use for whatever he needed, along with a note telling him not to be afraid to ask for more.

“So I know she doesn’t hate me,” Bucky mumbles. “Probably.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“I know,” Bucky says with a groan. He rolls over so he’s draped on top of Steve, then reaches up, putting a hand in Steve’s hair, stroking through the longer strands. “But I’m still scared,” he admits with a tight smile.

“That’s okay. I still think you’re really brave.”

“I like this,” Bucky says, twisting his fingers in Steve’s hair. “And the beard.” 

“Yeah?”

Bucky doesn’t respond, just continues petting Steve’s hair. It’s hard not to fall asleep like that, with so much warm Bucky on top of him, a heavy, welcome weight, and he doesn’t realize that he’d dozed off until Bucky’s reaching over him to turn off the bedside table lamp.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Steve mumbles, curling in on Bucky as soon as he settles in again.

“I know,” Bucky says before they both fall asleep. 

— —

In the coming months, he tells Steve everything. He tells Steve about being cornered in Pierce’s office as a confused intern, about the way Pierce promised him a job for next summer, too, if he’d just take off his pants and give him a blow job.

He tells Steve about the pretty things Pierce bought him that he showed off to his friends, the expensive dinners Pierce took him to, the way that he dazzled Bucky, who could barely afford school, and how he’d found Bucky crying one night after his internship because the check he sent to the tuition office bounced. “I’ll take care of it, if you come work here after you graduate,” Pierce had told him and Bucky had just held him, thanking him again and again and again. Pierce was his savior; Bucky became his debtor.

He tells Steve about their wedding night, which Bucky spent crying in their hotel room’s bathtub, door locked, as Pierce screamed at him from outside the door, telling him all the ways he’d embarrassed him that day, telling him that he needed to come to the bed and make it up to him right now or  _ else _ .

He tells Steve about their last night together, about Pierce taking one of his many guns out from the display case he keeps them in, about how he carefully aimed it at Bucky’s head like this time, he may actually shoot.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Bucky tells him. “I was paralyzed.”

In a moment of stupidity that Steve will regret the rest of his life, Steve asks, “Why didn’t you fight back?”

Bucky just stares at him for a long moment, face going white, then turns away. He doesn’t talk to Steve for two days, after that. Steve can’t blame him.

And on the third day, Steve tells Bucky something that he almost never says:

“I’m sorry.”

For some reason, Bucky forgives him. And Steve promises both Bucky and himself that he’ll do better.

— —

“Is that Bucky Barnes?” Tony asks, hovering over Steve’s desk on an early October afternoon. Steve just put up the little framed picture of the two of them, taken a couple weeks ago during a weekend road trip to New England to pick some pumpkins and look at foliage like a couple of dorks, along with Winnie and Salvatore. Even Eggs tagged along, but she had to stay at the hotel while the rest of them went to the orchard. The photo is a candid picture, taken by Winnie when the two of them weren’t looking, Bucky looking up in wonder at a particularly beautiful orange tree while Steve wrapped himself around him, kissing his cheek. It’s Steve’s favorite picture in the world.

No one else has noticed it yet, but leave it to Tony Stark to ask about it. “Yeah,” Steve says, then feeling brave, adds, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I thought old Buckaroo was married to the epitome of all evil.” Turns out, Tony Stark is not a big fan of Alexander Pierce, had some kind of issue with him since back when he was in the weapons business. At least there’s one loud voice that people actually listen to telling people that Pierce does, indeed, suck. Steve wishes it were any voice but Tony Stark’s, but beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes.

“He’s getting divorced,” Steve says with a shrug. “Should be finalized within the next month or so.”

“Good for him. That man’s hands are too smooth for a guy in that business.” He pauses, as if to ponder the very smart thing he just said. Steve restrains the urge to roll his eyes. “He working?”

“What?”

“Bucky Barnes, does he have a job? I know he was working at Insight — and ditched us to do that, if I remember correctly, and I always do — and that place is kaput, so does he have a job?”

Insight did go out of business. No one wants to work with a security equipment firm whose CEO is a foreign agent, so management quickly decided to liquidate the business. Steve felt for the staff, though was heartened to know that both Wanda and Nick Fury ended up accepting positions at the start-up Pietro and a few friends founded after ShieldDesign went out. They offered Steve a job, too, but he decided to stick it out at Stark Industries, feeling like Green Energy is one of the few places where he can really put his skills to good work. 

“Not right now,” Steve admits. “He’s got a lot going on.”

Tony nods, thoughtful. He leans against Steve’s desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, when he’s ready to rejoin the workforce, he should submit his resume to HR. We could use some people in marketing with a bit of gumption.”

“I’ll let him know,” Steve says feeling a little bubble of appreciation well up in his chest for his boss. But then Tony makes him stay an extra hour late so he can nitpick his latest design, and that bubble quickly bursts.

That being said, Steve brings Tony’s invitation home to Bucky, who keeps smiling.

“Alex told me I’d never get another job,” he keeps saying over their dinner of Chinese take out.

“It’s almost like you’re a really talented guy and people take notice,” Steve says and Bucky pokes him in the cheek with his chopstick.

But as they crawl into bed together that night, the lights off, Bucky asks, “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure I…” He pauses. “What if… when I go back to work… I want to do something else?” 

“That’d be just fine.” He scoots closer to Bucky so he can run a hand through his hair. “Are you thinking of something in particular?”

“No,” Bucky says, voice quiet. “Just… something else.”

— —

Pierce is considered a flight risk, so the judge refuses to let him make bail in September.

Bucky’s divorce goes through at the end of October. 

The divorce isn’t a big deal, all things considered, very little drama given the circumstances. They had a solid prenuptial agreement, but Pierce’s lawyers throw in a few concessions to help keep Bucky quiet; though, he refuses to sign an NDA. Pierce isn’t in much of a position to contest any of it, given all of the other things he has going on in his life. Each party’s lawyers decided that the last thing anyone needed was fuel added to the fire and dissolved the marriage as peacefully as possible.

Bucky gets $10,000 a month, just for having been married to Pierce.

Some society columnists call it a pittance, but it seems like a spoil of riches to Steve and Bucky, who grew up without much.

It doesn’t make up for the years of abuse and torture.

But it does help them start a new life together.

— —

“Take all the time you need,” Steve tells him on a cold November evening, rubbing Bucky’s back as he cries in their bed. “Do what you need to do to heal. We’ll all be here, no matter what.” 

So on Veteran’s Day, Bucky enters a two-week inpatient program at the psych ward of a nearby hospital, where he’ll learn skills for dealing with his depression and trauma, as well as have time with a psychiatrist, who will help him get the medicine he needs to help him get his mind out of the darkness. Winnie, Salvatore, and Steve walk him to the door together.

Steve visits Bucky every day, and every day Bucky seems a little brighter, a little more hopeful, tells Steve something about what they did in group together, or about some breakthrough he’s had in a therapy session. It fills Steve’s dreary November days with a sunshine from within, a flame he carries in his pocket that feels like Bucky’s smile.

Bucky leaves a few days before Thanksgiving, so Winnie and Salvatore go all out for the holiday, celebrating with Bucky and Steve as a real family with a full turkey dinner, even for Eggs, who still begs at the table despite her full bowl on the floor. Bucky’s new medicine precludes him from drinking alcohol, so Salvatore pulls out a bottle of sparkling apple cider, which they sip out of plastic champagne glasses as Winnie shows Steve all sorts of scrapbooks she made when Bucky was a kid, each filled with embarrassing baby pictures that make Bucky blush and complain.

They walk home hand-in-hand as light snow falls, melting as soon as it hits the pavement.

“Hey,” Bucky says, a few blocks from Steve’s apartment. He stops walking; Steve turns around to look at him. The streetlights shine in his eyes and a snowflake settles onto his long eyelashes, taking its time before it melts. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, breath a small cloud that brushes against Bucky’s lips before disappearing into the air.

Bucky nods. “I was just thinking about last Thanksgiving.”

“Last Thanksgiving?”

“I spent the whole day thinking of you, wishing we were together,” Bucky says.

“Me too,” Steve says, thinking of the anxiety and cracked phone screens and the dog show and the pain.

“It’s been a weird year,” Bucky says, grinning. He gives Steve’s hand a squeeze.

“That’s for sure.” He smiles, feeling so much love and hope in his chest that it could burst. “You got us here, you know. You did everything. You’re just…” He swallows hard. “You’re the bravest person I know, Buck. I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky blows a raspberry and shakes his head, doesn’t meet Steve’s eye. “You’ll take down a corrupt former government official someday, if you really want to. You just gotta put your mind to it. Focus.”

Steve laughs and smiles and wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You wanna be my date for Christmas, too?” he asks, a soft voice in Bucky’s ear.

“I intend on being your date for all forthcoming holidays, Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, nudging Steve’s side.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve leans down and kisses Bucky as onlookers pass by on their way to and from their family and friends’, as little snowflakes fall and melt on Bucky’s warm skin. They kiss like it’s New Year’s Eve, like they’re ringing in a new year, and making up for decades of New Years’ kisses they’ve missed out on. They kiss like they’ll never spend another New Years apart. 

They kiss like they’re each other’s futures.

And as Steve finally pulls away from Bucky, both grinning and both so in love, Steve can see their future together clearly. 

He can’t wait.

And their walk home is the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> The happy ending.
> 
> Posting March 4.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please humor me for this long, emotional note. ACM has been a part of my life for a year now, which is crazy because I've never worked on anything this long before. This story has been with me through several major unexpected life changes and a lot of ups and downs and you know what's stupid? I'm really going to miss it. I'm going to miss thinking about it and posting it and stressing over it and I'm just going to miss it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this story — my friends, who have selflessly spent hours reassuring me and cheering me on, the readers, especially those of you who have taken time to tell me your thoughts and feelings on this story, as well as your own stories, and this fandom, which has been such a wonderful (and occasionally terrible) place to grow as a writer and friend.
> 
> In a lot of ways, this story expands on the themes that I wrote about in my first Steve/Bucky fic, it's a strange courage. It's weird to look at the two side-by-side and see how I've matured since I nervously posted that fic, thinking no one would ever read it. Writing ACM was a study in confidence building for me in a similar way; I was never (and am still not) sure that I could write a story like this. But I'm really proud of the story I told and the way I told it.
> 
> Sharing it with y'all has been both nerve-wracking and wonderful, spending hours wondering if this would be the chapter where everyone discovered I was an untalented fraud, just pretending, and feeling so joyful and touched by the reactions I got instead. I'll be forever very grateful for the community that coalesced around this fic. Your friendship, kindness, encouragement, and vulnerability means the world to me.
> 
> This fic has changed the way I write. I'm taking more risks and challenges now. I don't know what's coming next, but for the first time in a long time...
> 
> I'm really excited about what comes next.

Being Natasha’s best person is much easier than rom coms had led Steve to believe.

For example, Steve had an entire battle plan for dress shopping ready to go: lists of stores with different styles of dresses, along with nearby taco places mapped out, in case things got hairy and Natasha needed to calm down.

But in reality? It only takes one dress.

They start out at a small boutique run by one of Steve’s acquaintances from Pratt, Hope van Dyne. She’s a great designer; Steve spent a long time on her Instagram before deciding that her shop would be the perfect place to begin what he had assumed would be a drawn-out process. Hope has a wide variety of dresses, so Natasha will have the opportunity to see all sorts of cuts and fits, and Steve knows that Hope won’t try to pressure Natasha into making a purchase.

The last part isn’t for Natasha’s sake, it’s for Hope’s. No one pressures Natasha into doing  _ anything _ .

So Steve prepares for battle, packing a bag with tissues, Snickers bars, bottles of water, and a whistle, just in case. Valkyrie brings a flask, taking a swig when she enters the store and eyes the satin-covered manniequins with thinly-veiled disgust.

But it’s not a battle. Turns out, it only takes one dress.

Steve doesn’t know who grabbed the strapless princess-cut wedding dress with a made of swirling layers of tulle. He’s sure he didn’t; it’s not the edgy dress that he would have assumed Natasha would go for. It’s a traditional shape — a simple bodice with a sweetheart neckline and a voluptuous bottom made from layers upon layers of thin, fairy-like fabric. But there’s also something modern about its simplicity, the unadorned hugeness of it.

“We’ll start with a laugh,” Natasha says, taking it into the dressing room, emerging a few minutes later with a carefully neutral face. She stands in front of Steve and Val and Hope van Dyne herself and asks, her voice shaking only once, “So this is it, right?”

Everyone is quiet for a long moment, just looking at Natasha. She’s radiant in the dress, its slight ivory color off-setting her pale skin, highlighting her red hair. Each swish of the dress sounds like a magic spell. She looks like something out of a fairytale — not in silly extravagance, but as a woman emerging from darkness into the version of herself she’s always known herself to be on the inside.

“Yeah Nat, that’s the dress,” Steve says in a quiet voice, finally breaking the spell.

And while Steve has never once seen Natasha cry, a few tears slip down her cheeks as she grins.

— —

Natasha’s bachelorette party happens a week before the wedding, a crawl of hipster-filled Park Slope bars that includes Natasha getting on stage with a two-person band dressed as devils to play the kazoo, Valkyrie nearly being arrested, and Carol Danvers — Natasha’s old best friend from out of town — saying she could fly and nearly jumping off of a building.

All in all, it’s the perfect bachelorette party. Just enough drama to have some really fun stories to share about it, but no one was actually injured or arrested.

Steve checks that one off of his best person list with a smile and a hangover.

— —

The wedding itself looms ahead, seemingly so far away but getting closer and closer. It’s one of those events that feels so monumental that you’re half-sure they’ll never happen until they actually do.

He’s sitting at their rehearsal dinner, eating a piece of pizza and getting grilled by Sam’s mom about his date when it actually hits him. Tonight is the  _ rehearsal dinner _ . And tomorrow is...

The wedding.

When he shares this insight with Sam, all he has to say is, “Duh.” And then, a little more panicked, “You have your suit, right? Please Jesus, tell me this boy remembered to pick up his suit.”

Steve had, in fact, remembered to pick up his suit. It’s just that the enormity of the event ahead hadn’t really registered until that moment.

— —

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks Natasha the morning of her wedding as he hands her a croissant.

She’s wearing a white silk robe and sitting at a dressing table in the comfortable bridal suite of their wedding venue, an event space in Brooklyn called Deity. She’s just gotten her hair done, twisted up into an elegant chiffon with a single loosely curled strand framing her face. Next up on the wedding day list is the make up, but she has a few minutes now to eat something out of the box of pastries Steve picked up for the bridal party before their call time.

She shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Are you having a crisis?” Steve asks as he pulls up a chair to sit down next to her. There’s some hustle and bustle around them, but most of the noise comes from the other side of the room, where Valkyrie and Carol are enjoying their pre-wedding mimosas.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Why would you think I’m having a crisis?”

“Rom coms tell me that brides are supposed to have a crisis the morning before their wedding.”

She sighs, shakes her head, and rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “This isn’t some CW show where someone will pop out and tell me I’m making the wrong choice halfway through. I’m…” She pauses. “You know what I was thinking about?” she asks, eyes going a bit dreamy as she looks at her reflection in the mirror with a thoughtful expression.

“Not tripping as you walk down the aisle?”

“Well, now I’m thinking of that,” she says, then relaxes again. “You know what’s stupid? I’ve been thinking about how I kind of miss him.” She glances over at him, then back to the mirror, rolling her eyes at herself. “I know it’s only been a night, but I kind of miss him.”

“I understand,” Steve says. This time two years ago, he wouldn’t have. But he does now. 

Natasha looks at him, corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “I bet you do.” 

They look at each other for a long moment. “I love you,” Steve says.

She reaches out and pats Steve’s cheek. “I know.” Shaking her head, she looks out of the bridal suite window, seeing the Brooklyn streets and, farther away, Mahattan. It’s a beautiful May morning, the whole city bathed in warm light and the promise of summer. “I don’t think there could be a more perfect day for all of this,” she says, and she’s right.

— —

The wedding looks like an urban fantasy. A white chiffon curtain with fairy lights wraps itself around the wooden altar, which is topped by a canopy of green leaves, which spread and drip down the exposed brick walls. Their family and friends sit intermingled on wooden chairs, rows of teary eyes and smiling faces. It’s just about everything a wedding should be, Steve thinks, especially the bride and groom, standing in the middle of everything, grinning at one another with loving eyes, as Sam’s childhood preacher asks them to exchange their vows.

He doesn’t know if it’s cliché to let his eyes wander away from the bride and groom at that time, if it’s too rom com-y to seek his own boyfriend out in the crowd and just have a moment of eye contact, a shared acknowledgement of their own love during the beautiful celebration of someone else’s. Even if it is a cliché, he does his eyes stray, just once, finding Bucky’s in the crowd. It’s only a flash, barely long enough for Bucky to smile back at him with wet blue eyes. It seems like he’s on the edge of his seat, all misty and entranced by the beauty that’s happening in front of them. He’s not alone — Steve looks and feels the same way. 

He doesn’t want to let his eyes stray away from Bucky again, but he has to, he needs to catalog every moment of this in his memory to pull out on those days where it seems like the sun will never shine again, to remember what it feels like to be a part of something so good, so real, and so whole. To be a part of a day that means so much to everyone in this room and means everything to two of the people he cares about the most in his life.

But even as he watches turns his attention back to Sam and Natasha, an image pops up in his mind:

It’s of he and Bucky, standing hand-in-hand in front of a Justice of the Peace, exchanging their own vows, Bucky grinning, Steve’s eyes filled with tears. He can almost feel the cold weight of the ring Bucky would slip onto his finger.

Marriage is not something that he’s let himself dwell on, if he’s being honest. There’s been so much drama, so much pain, and so much stress; he couldn’t ask Bucky to relive any of it if he didn’t want to. And in moments of weakness, Steve wasn’t even sure they’d make it to this wedding, let alone their own. But even if there have been moments of desperation and despair, the two of them have built something beautiful and Steve thinks, stable, laying the groundwork for a relationship that will last a long time.

But even with the healing that’s already happened, there’s still much more to come. Steve knows this and Bucky does, too. Even if Bucky did think about getting married again — which he may never want to — there’s no promising that he’ll want to do it anytime soon.

But when it comes to marriage… Steve can wait. He’ll take Bucky any way he can have him for as long as he wants him. Because he loves him.

And it’s enough that he can say it out loud. It’s enough to know that after this, he’ll be able to take Bucky’s hand and not worry that anyone will see.

“It is with great joy and honor that I now pronounce you husband and wife. Sam? You may now kiss the bride.”

Hoots and hollers erupt from the crowd as Steve’s own face splits into a grin.  _ Embraceable You _ begins to play as Sam dips Natasha low, the pouf of her tulle skirt practically engulfing the both of them as they kiss through their smiles. “I’m going to kill you,” Natasha hisses at him, but the effect is dampened by her smile, by his laughter, and the fact that the two of them are absolutely glowing as Sam straightens Natasha back up and gives her another kiss, upright this time.

As they walk back down the aisle hand-in-hand, guests start blowing bubbles, showering them in shimmering soapy light. Steve follows close behind next to Riley, who nudges his side and says something Steve can’t really hear over the cheers. He walks by Bucky, who sends a steady stream of bubbles straight towards his face. They pop just before impact; it feels like a magic spell.

— —

The reception is just as beautiful. They descend an antique copper staircase down to an open room, tables decorated with bright gold tablecloths and green and white floral centerpieces. A DJ sets up by an actual tree on the back wall, though people haven’t yet started moving over to the dance floor, opting instead to grab glasses of champagne from servers in black vests or waiting in line at the bar, like Steve does once the photos are over and he finally has a few moments to himself.

“I’ve been trying to think of a best man joke all day, but nothing’s coming to me.”

Steve turns around, a Tom Collins in hand, to see Bucky standing on his other side, a sheepish smile on his face. He’s looking particularly killer tonight in a new steel blue suit, white button down underneath. Without a tie, the ensemble looks fresh and young, brings out the bright color in Bucky’s eyes, and accentuates the lithe lines of his body. The suit was a treat he bought himself after he got his first paycheck from the domestic violence victim’s advocacy group he started working for last month. Initially, he’d felt a little guilty — he’s been saving up to buy a condo in the building next to his parents’ — but he deserved something special, and Steve can’t bring himself to complain about something that is a treat for him, too.

A helluva treat, he tells himself as he looks Bucky up and down.

“Technically, I’m a best person,” Steve says, closing the space between them, leaning in, and kissing Bucky on his smiling lips. “Maybe something  _ Lord of the Rings _ ?”

“Can’t really whip off a cumberbund for a mid-battle gender reveal,” Bucky says, pulling back to futz with Steve’s suit jacket a little, making sure it’s on straight. Steve knows it is, but appreciates the fussing. “You on the hook for any more pictures?”

“Not right now.”

“So you’re all mine, is what you’re saying,” Bucky says, letting go of Steve’s jacket in order to slide a hand around Steve’s waist and pull him in close. Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple, a quick thing, something he doesn’t have to think about. It’s so nice.

“I think that for the day I’m all Natasha’s, but I’m all yours generally speaking.”

Bucky chuckles and presses his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. “All mine, huh?” he asks, voice quiet. They stand like that for a minute or two, Bucky pressed to Steve, Steve’s free hand wrapped around Bucky’s waist. It’s nice to just feel him and be with him after a day spent apart. He knows what Natasha meant about missing someone. Even if it’s a little pathetic, Steve misses Bucky when he’s out of the room.

But moments like this, where they’re together and happy… They’re the moments that Steve holds onto. Because who would have ever thought they’d have this? Who would’ve thought they could go to a wedding together as dates, that they could be photographed together, that they could take to the dancefloor hand-in-hand, and that they wouldn’t have to hide a thing? It feels like a spoil of riches, like it can’t even be real.

But then Bucky’s head perks up and he says, “Are those mini beef wellingtons?” he asks with something like wonder, eyes trailing one of the caterers carrying a silver tray. Moments later he steals away towards the server, Steve laughing as he does.

He watches as Bucky fills a small plate, then brings them back to where Steve’s standing. “Want one?” he asks through a full mouth.

“Only one?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“They’re mini beef wellingtons, Steve. I’m going to eat as many as I can and you and I both know there will only be so many brought out. I am  _ not _ missing this opportunity.”

Steve doesn’t mention that it’s not all that difficult to make beef wellington, and that he’d be happy to do it one night if Bucky just asks. Instead, he just plucks one off of the little plate and shoves it in his mouth whole. “Yum,” he says, once he’s chewed and swallowed.

“Hey,” Bucky says.

“Yeah?”

“You looked really good up there.”

Steve’s smile falls, his eyes go wide. “Yeah?” he asks, something warm and tender building in his chest. He takes a step closer to Bucky.

“You did.” Bucky rolls his eyes and reaches out to gently push at Steve’s chest. One his hand is there, he lets it linger. “Don’t let the compliment go to your head, big guy.” 

“How can I not when the guy giving me the compliment is—”

“I  _ love _ this song,” Bucky says as the DJ puts on an upbeat jazzy tune, abandoning his plate of beloved beef wellingtons on a nearby table and grabbing Steve’s hand, dragging him across the room towards the dancefloor. 

“I don’t think it’s dance time yet,” Steve says, but Bucky ignores him, opting instead to twirl Steve around a few times. Since it’s Bucky and people will be dancing soon anyway, Steve throws himself into it, swinging Bucky back and forth like they’re terrible extras in a Fred Astaire movie.

They only dance the length of the song; by the time it’s over, Steve’s grinning as Bucky throws his head back in laughter. A spectator from the sidelines claps, more sarcastic than enthusiastic, but Bucky takes a bow with a grand flourish, just because he can. When he straightens back up, he puts an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him back towards his beef wellingtons.

Sam is standing there, waiting for them. “At my wedding?” he asks, eyebrows up. “You’re bringing this tomfoolery to my  _ wedding _ ?” 

It’s all in good fun, Steve knows, and it doesn’t stop Steve from wrapping Sam up in a big hug, lifting him off of his feet and spinning him around. They’re both laughing by the time Steve puts him down. “If you wrinkled my suit,” Sam threatens, but the words aren’t very threatening, dampened as they are by the way Sam can barely talk through his laughter. 

When they calm down, Steve takes a good look at his friend. He’s shining today, gap-toothed smile bright, suit unwrinkled, despite Steve’s exuberant hug.

“I love you,” Steve says, a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

For a moment, Sam seems a little taken aback. But then his smile goes even wider as he closes the space between them for another hug, this one tight, and lasting.

“Love you, too,” Sam says as he pulls back. “Now go get your man.”

Confused, Steve turns to his side and sees that Bucky has disappeared. Sam grabs Steve’s head and turns him to where Bucky is trying to slide a server a twenty. He thinks he can see the words ‘beef wellington’ on Bucky’s lips.

Steve just turns back to Sam, who laughs. “Get to it.”

And with his blessing, Steve heads back into the crowd.

— —

They spend the night laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking — Bucky sticking to ginger ale, which sends a wave of pride through Steve — and the whole thing feels the way that a wedding should: it’s a celebration of love. It doesn’t feel like an obligation, it doesn’t feel like a bore. It’s a bunch of friends and family coming together to enjoy each other’s company under a canopy of bright lights while they wish Sam and Natasha well on their journey through life.

It’s near the end of the night, when Sam and Natasha are too wrapped up in each other on the dance floor that they’re no longer paying attention to the other people and just slowly swaying to the music playing for them, that Bucky grabs Steve’s hand. “Come on,” he says.

And because it’s Bucky, Steve doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t do anything besides slide his hand into Bucky’s and let him lead the way.

Bucky takes upstairs him into the bridal suite he was in with Natasha before the ceremony. “It’s unlocked,” Bucky says, a little obviously, as the two of them sneak inside.

“Were you sleuthing?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Just wanted to get you alone for a couple minutes.” He slinks over to Steve and straightens his suit jacket again, but this time, the air between them feels different, more charged. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“Who else would I have brought?” Steve asks.

“All of your other courtiers, obviously.”

“Only you,” Steve says, reaching out and running a hand through Bucky’s soft hair. “Only you,” he repeats, voice softer, barely a whisper.

Sound filters in from the party, soft music with a slow tempo. Steve pulls Bucky close and they start to sway. “Reminds me of their engagement party,” Bucky says, nuzzling in. “But a lot better.”

“Me too,” Steve says, leaning in and kissing Bucky’s cheekbone. “We’re actually happy now, for starters.”

“We are.” He laughs. “Well, most of the time.”

They’ve had their moments. They’ll have more moments as the months and years pass. But they keep coming back to each other, again and again. And they will for a long time, Steve thinks. Maybe even forever.

There’s something about weddings that makes Steve think about forever, even though nothing is ever promised for a day, let along eternity. But with Bucky in his arms? He’ll tempt the fates.

Steve will love him forever. 

“You think you could marry me one day?” Bucky asks a moment later, head pressed against Steve’s shoulder. His voice is light, but there’s hidden depth to it, a serious question behind the casual tone. Steve tightens his grip around Bucky.

“In a heartbeat,” Steve says. “Whenever you want, you say the word.”

“I’m being serious,” Bucky says and Steve can feel him rolling his eyes, even if he can’t see him do it.

“Does the Prospect Park Zoo do weddings?”

“They do, but I’ve seen Half-Time fling water at the groom.”

“Groom probably deserved it,” Steve says. He presses his lips to Bucky’s hair, lets the kiss linger before he starts to speak again. “But I’m serious too. I’ll wait until you’re ready, and if you’re never ready, I’ll still be here. But when I was standing up there this afternoon, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like if we were the grooms.”

Bucky’s quiet for a little bit after that, which is fine. They just sway together, as wrapped up in each other as Natasha and Sam are on the dance floor. “Yeah, I’d marry you,” Bucky says after a little, and it’s so blunt and shocking that Steve can’t help but snort.

“Gee thanks,” Steve says.

“In a little while,” Bucky says.

“However long you want. Tomorrow, next year, when we’re eighty. Just let me know.”

“You’re too good to be true,” Bucky says, something almost sincere edging into what should be a sarcastic statement.

“Nah, I’m right here. You can touch me, if you want.”

“Oh, I’d like to touch you,” Bucky says, half-laughing.

“Why don’t you?” Steve says, not expecting Bucky to take the bait.

But maybe he forgot that they spent the first few months of their relationship covertly fucking in public places because Bucky wriggles out of Steve’s arms and starts unbuttoning Steve’s shirt beneath his suit jacket. “You on board?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“I’m on board,” Steve says, a little breathless.

Bucky makes quick work of the shirt and jacket, then carefully sets them aside on a table. He smooths a hand down Steve’s chest, pausing to flick at his left nipple. “You look great in that suit but better without it.”

“Well, showing up without it may have ruined Sam and Natasha’s day, so.”

“But it would’ve made mine,” Bucky says, reaching for the button on Steve’s pants. They both get moderately undressed, Bucky opting to keep his top on to avoid wrinkles, so long as Steve promises to be very careful, which Steve does. And to Steve’s happy surprise, Bucky pulls a condom and a small packet of lube out of his suit jacket.

“Were you really expecting this?” Steve asks.

“I saw the way you look in that suit,” Bucky says before leaning in and kissing him.

Steve pulls away long enough to say, “But you just said I look better without it,” which makes Bucky dive back in, just to get Steve to shut up, which he does with pleasure.

Eventually, when they’ve kissed each other until their lips are red, Bucky turns to face the wall, bracing himself with his hands, ass sticking out underneath the ends of Bucky’s shirt. Steve moves towards him, running a hand over the fabric, tracing Bucky’s spine from underneath his shirt collar, down to his ass, where he slips a finger inside of him. Bucky tenses for a moment, fingers digging into the wall, then relaxes. “God, Steve,” he says as Steve inserts another finger and starts loosening him up, prepping Bucky for what’s to come. The music changes to something a little more upbeat and Steve presses into Bucky to the beat, just to be a shit. In response, Bucky pushes his weight back and groans.

“C’mon, before anyone decides they want some alone time in here, too,” Bucky says in a breathy voice.

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s rock hard by the time he pulls on the condom and spreads lube over himself and Bucky. As he thrusts into him, a drop of sweat drips down his brow and right onto Bucky’s shirt, leaving a salty wet spot. Whoops. He’d say something, but they’re both a little too preoccupied to care about Bucky’s Ralph Lauren shirt at the moment.

Instead, Steve leans over and kisses the nape of Bucky’s neck, just at the edge of his hair, chin grazing the shirt collar.

The song changes again, to something soft and sentimental, and Steve slows down until they’re both aching. “You with me?” Steve asks, reaching around to wrap his hand around Bucky’s dick.

“Always,” Bucky says.

Neither of them last long after that.

When it’s over, Steve slumps into Bucky, whispering that he loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

Bucky breathes hard and says, “Sam is going to kill us.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky as they laugh.

— —

“Do I look presentable?” Steve asks, doing a little twirl once he’s dressed again.

Bucky reaches over, trying to smooth Steve’s hair, but it’s kind of a lost battle. “Well, you’ve looked worse,” he says with a grimace.

“I’ll just say I won the limbo contest.”

“There was no limbo contest.”

Steve turns around to grab his jacket, but when he turns around, Bucky’s got a strange expression on his face, holding something in one of his hands that Steve can’t quite make out.

“What is it?” he asks, frowning.

“It’s kind of…” Bucky exhales. “It’s not a proposal, or even a promise, but…” He holds out his hand. Steve walks closer, looks down, and sees the locket Bucky got on their trip to Cold Spring over a year ago. “You can pick it up.”

Steve does, opening it up with careful fingers. There’s a photo inside of the two of them. Steve looks up at Bucky, who has his hands stuffed in his pants pockets, a nervous expression on his face.

“You should keep it. I want you to keep it,” Bucky says. “I want you to know I love you.”

Steve smiles, tears in his eyes for not the first time that day. “Thank you, Bucky. I will.”

— —

They head back to the party after that.

“Where have you been?” Sam hisses as Steve returns to the dancefloor. He’s dancing with Natasha, who looks like she’s half-asleep, hanging onto her husband like he’s the only thing keeping her upright. “It’s almost over.”

Steve claps him on the back and says, with a big smile, “You don’t want to know.” He only feels brave enough to say it because he knows Sam would never drop Natasha; that Natasha trusts Sam to hold her up, even when she is incredibly sleepy.

But it doesn’t stop Sam looking at him, narrowing his eyes, and saying, “You’re nasty.” Which just makes Steve grin bigger.

“Everything turn out how it was supposed to?” Steve asks, looking around the room, at Sam’s mom inspecting the after-dessert snack spread, Thor and Loki in a quiet but heated argument, and Valkyrie and Carol drinking in a corner.

“Yeah, it really did,” Sam says, expression softening. “And you?”

“Not yet,” Steve says, eyes looking across the room to where Bucky is in an animated conversation with Wanda and Pietro. He reaches into his pocket and holds the little locket in the palm of his hand. “But I think it will be.”

— —

Two years later

— —

_ New York Times _

November 8

Wedding Announcements

**Steve Rogers weds James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes.**

> Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes were married Nov. 8 at the Boathouse in Prospect Park. Salvatore Amador Bello, step-father of the groom, officiated.
> 
> Mr. Rogers (left), 34, is head of the graphic design department at Stark Industries, and has spearheaded a new initiative for ecologically-conscious art and design in the private sector. He graduated summa cum laude from CUNY Brooklyn College and received an MFA from the Pratt Institute.
> 
> He is a son of Sarah Elizabeth Rogers and Joseph Charleston Rogers of Brooklyn, New York. Mrs. Rogers was a nurse at Kings County Hospital Center. Mr. Rogers was a soldier who served in the Gulf War.
> 
> Mr. Barnes (right), 32, is a well-known advocate for domestic violence victims and currently serves as the Marketing Director for the NW Network, an organization that aims to end abuse in lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender communities. He graduated cum laude from New York University.
> 
> Mr. Barnes has been married once before.
> 
> He is a son of Winifred Rebecca Barnes and Matthew Asher Barnes. He is a step-son of Salvatore Amador Bello. Mr. Barnes’ mother is a lifelong nurse at Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. His father is currently incarcerated. Mr. Barnes’ stepfather is a zookeeper at the Prospect Park Zoo.
> 
> The couple met on Mr. Rogers’ first day working at Insight Incorporated, a recently-closed global security equipment firm, when he spilled coffee on Mr. Barnes’ shirt. They will honeymoon on a road trip through California with their Golden Retriever, Bacon.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end! Congrats! Thank you so much for reading! I love you!
> 
> • Hearing from y’all is one of my favorite parts of sharing fic, so if you’ve got a minute to drop your reactions in a comment, it will probably make my day.  
• You can [reblog this fic on Tumblr](https://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/189045143374/a-company-man-by-mambo-its-the-way-that-bucky) or [retweet this fic on Twitter](https://twitter.com/mamboao4/status/1194734433003282432) if you care to spread the word. 
> 
> [The National Domestic Violence Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/) provides support to domestic violence survivors, as well as others whose lives are touched by domestic violence. You can speak to them over the phone or through online chat. Additionally, they provide numerous resources, including detailed information on creating a safety plan to help people leave their abusive partners. If you or someone you know may be in an unsafe situation, please give them a call at 1−800−799−7233 or visit their website for more information.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for A Company Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811036) by [MsPooslie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPooslie/pseuds/MsPooslie)


End file.
